The Beauty of Friendship
by CrystalFNfire
Summary: Last part of my Unwelcome trilogy! Please read Unwelcome and Forbidden Things are Forbidden First. Dol Guldur has attacked Lorien and Mirkwood comes to its aid, but the friends are separated along the way. Please R&R. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello, nostalgic readers! (If you're new, just ignore this.) You may have noticed that this story has been revamped. I didn't like where it had gone before, so I changed it up a bit, just like the rest of the trilogy.

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Prologue**

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Legolas suffered for Melian, and was down and morose for many weeks after her rejection. His father had been right in refusing the marriage, but his son still did not understand how the elf-maid could have loved another behind his back during the entire time he courted her. He did not come out of his room for days, and when he finally did, Laine, his best friend, noticed that he was pale and drawn.

Her heart broke to see him like this, and she longed to tell him that Melian was not a traitor to his heart and that she was not in love with another, but she could not go back on her word. The servant girl was smarter than Laine had first given her credit for, and knew that the king would never let his son, the Crowned Prince, marry a mere servant girl. Even if he had, word would get out and Mirkwood would become the laughing stock of all of Middle-Earth. Laine knew that Legolas did not care about any of that, and tried to tell this to Melian, but the servant girl held resolute and would not allow her lord to be ridiculed.

The human girl, being a very headstrong person herself, understood the elf-maid's feelings. She had come to like Melian and their friendship had grown to a point where they understood the other's motives almost completely. However, Melian refused to serve Legolas any longer, as that would only make her see his hurt and internal wounds everyday. She wanted Laine to make him happy again.

"How?!" the girl had asked her. "All he wants is you right now. All I am is his best friend, and I doubt he'll choose that over a lover." Melian had shaken her head, meaning she did not know what was to be done, but had begged Laine to continue to try and cheer the prince up. The human girl only sighed reluctantly and tried, unsuccessfully, once more, to make Legolas happy.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1

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She complained of her problems to another good friend, Ranien. The two had bonded quickly when Laine had come to Mirkwood, and the girl almost felt as close to him as she did Legolas and Aragorn. He was one of the few who knew the plight between Legolas and Melian, as he and the prince had been childhood friends.

She viewed Ranien as someone she could depend on, as he was always there for her, and in return, she always wanted him to be able to lean on her. He, however, did not just wish to be a friend to the mortal girl, but refused to lay more troubles on her shoulders. Laine was none the wiser, and he intended to keep it that way until he was ready. After all, love between an elf and a human was uncommon, and the types of love that occurred between them came and went.

"Do you have any ideas about how to wake the prince up from this gloom?" Laine asked him, as they walked through the areas around the Mirkwood city boundaries. "Melian isn't everything in the world, you know. I mean, he has to have found some way to entertain himself before her, right?"

Ranien always stiffened when she mentioned Legolas, and though the two had been very close in childhood, he felt as if there was more than just friendship between the girl and his prince. She had never shown any hint of loss when Legolas fell in love with the servant maid, but her eagerness to re-animate him now that Melian was gone made Ranien jealous and suspicious. He, of course, did not know what Melian had done to save the prince's name and that Laine's eagerness stemmed from anxiety of her best friend's mental and physical health and his love's request. Even in the days of the fellowship, the two had never thought of the other as anything but a close friend.

Ranien had come to know Laine well the past few months and could tell when she was not saying everything on her mind. "Is that all?" he tried to control his temper. "There is nothing else bothering you?" The two strolled past the magical gates of Mirkwood that opened and closed upon command, and into the shrubbery areas, where wild flowers and berries grew in abundance. The woodland realm was literally covered from top to bottom with natural beauty and Laine had not been able to go into a single room where vines and trees had not been able to grow in any way they wished.

The girl rolled her eyes at the elf, whose head was, at the moment, haloed by a wreath of golden light, as they had just walked by a place where the sun was allowed to shine through the thick eaves of Mirkwood forest. "You know me too well," she smiled at him, and he could not help but smile back. To draw a smile from Laine these days was a feat in itself as she walked around with a harassed expression all the time because of the stress from the information she knew. Her smile immediately turned to a grimace as she sighed and muttered, "But I can't tell you just yet."

Around them, majestic trees with masses of leaves towered, blocking all but spots of the early summer sun; they had passed the shrubberies. On the ground, the undergrowth managed to snake around the elf-made paths, giving a beautiful guide through the magnificent elf-city. Even in bright daylight, only patches of sun could be seen, and mirrors had been used to point the light to the palace, where the white walls gleamed, embedded with emeralds and jades.

She tried to change the subject, and took a look at her stringy hair that she had not washed for days. "Eck... I feel and look like a _hag_," she stuck out a tongue in disgust.

_You are the most beautiful hag I have ever seen_, Ranien thought, but knew he could not say it. "You do not look like a hag," he raised an eyebrow so innocently that Laine had to laugh. Ranien had always been able to make her laugh, whether intentionally or not.

She crouched so it looked as if her back was humped, curled a hand close to her chest and hobbled in a way that made her right leg seem crippled. She closed one eye and screwed up her face and asked in a crackly, old woman voice, "Do I look like a hag now?"

Ranien rolled his eyes, a gesture he had learned from her, and said, "Yes, you make a very convincing hag. But while you have your youth, why not use it?" His tone was light, but he realized what he had said, and bit his lip involuntarily. Even if she did love him, they would only be able to live together for a short time, and then her life would end and he would be left with the emptiness and sorrow that no doubt took all elves if they genuinely loved a human. But like the lady Arwen, he could choose a mortal life…

The girl's words brought him back from the thoughts. "Oh, just because _you_ can live forever," she narrowed her eyes, got up from her crouch and stuck her tongue out at the elf. She was prone to childish gestures like this even though she was nineteen, and Ranien had gotten use to it. However, not objecting to flirting, he lightly punched her arm.

"Nineteen and the only retort you can come up with involves sticking your tongue out at me?" he smiled mischievously and leaped agilely out of the way as she tried to return the favor by swatting at him. He knew that if she was actually angry with him, she would have moved much faster and her blow would have been much harder, as he had seen her fight before. "What's this?" he mocked, the grin still on his face. "Resorting to womanly tactics of slapping and biting?"

"You--!" Laine could not help but grin in return. She never finished her sentence, as she was now determined to hit him for his comment. Of course, not too hard, just as a warning blow… She leaped at him, and caught him as he leaped back towards a tree, and landed a fist on his left chest, though it was more of a girly pound than anything else. She had not the heart to hit him any harder.

Before she could pound him again, however, he caught her by the wrists and spun her around so that she was against a tree, and rather helpless. "Let go of me!" she said indignantly, her dignity having been lost in that little skirmish.

"Not a chance," Ranien smiled in triumph and cuffed her head gently. She immediately withdrew her wrists from his lackadaisical grasp and tried to scold him by landing a blow on his stomach. Unfortunately, his abdomen was harder than rock, and he just laughed as she tried to get past him.

"Not fair," she complained, as she failed to dodge him again. "You're taller than me." She was breathing harder than usual, and pouted when she saw that Ranien was not the least bit ruffled from that battle. She had no idea why her strength left her every time she and the elf play fought and she could not deal punches and hits that were about as hard as a toddler's tantrum flailing. "Hey, look!" she pointed. "Eagle!"

When he turned to look, she slipped past him and immediately pounced on him and pinned him to the tree, his back to her. "Old trick," he grimaced, as she crossed his arms behind him. "I cannot believe I actually fell for it." She smiled at his back and let him go, but not before playfully scuffing her boot on his heel.

When they had settled down and continued walking again, she fell back into the easy attitude that Ranien had been used to when she first arrived. She loved how he could make her forget her temporary troubles and let her soul fly. The fact that she was so different from all other women he had met was what made Ranien so attracted to her. She was a fireball of energy, which made him want to tame her.

At the moment, her body was hidden modestly in a top that Ranien believed was much too big for her. Her leggings were more of a fit but they flared out unnecessarily at the knee and were ridiculously large at her feet, where she wore soft, leather boots. No one had ever heard of wearing boots under their leggings, but Laine was able to pull it off marvelously.

"Let's go to the lake," she suggested.

Ranien grinned, slightly teasingly. "Well, I do not know if I should. It is usually occupied by warriors who have time on their hands and want to show who is more of a 'man.'" At first, Laine did not understand his meaning, but he added, "All of them are usually half-way out of the water and bare."

He expected the girl to blush, but she merely laughed as the two continued to walk. "Okay, so let me get this right: if I go to the lake, I'll see elves with marble physiques all at least half-naked with steamy water dripping off of them. That's hot. What are we waiting for?"

Ranien decided that she was merely jesting and asked, "And since when have you taken an interest in the other sex?" It was true that he had never heard her say anything regarding the fact that she wanted a partner or even act as if a partner intrigued her. The question came out more harshly than he intended, as he was trying to continue the jest.

"I am a woman, am I not?" she immediately shot back, rather defensively. "I just don't blab about everyone I take an interest in."

The elf was a little shocked at this snappish manner, but he credited it to the fact that Laine had disguised herself as a man before and at the moment, she was not at her feminine best. Deep down, he believed, she really wanted to be a normal woman and be loved and cared for. However, something kept her walls up, not letting her out to let herself be loved.

"Let's head back to the palace," Ranien suggested, and Laine caught his tone. "This was a very prolonged walk." _Not that I dislike spending time with you_, he added mentally, and the words were nearly at the tip of his tongue.

"Look, Ranien," the girl was usually blunt and was again now. "I am a woman, and I _can _love. I…I want to be noticed too, and not just be the _friend_ on the sidelines."

The elf stood rooted to the spot after that speech. As Laine turned to go back to the palace, he suddenly realized what she had said. She was already heading back to the first crossroad when he caught up with her.

"Who is this man you are in love with?" he asked breathlessly, his manner very much unlike the slow, deliberate ways of elves. His heart was in his throat, floating high with hope and anxiety. The nervousness and agitation of possible rejection had not set in yet.

"I never said he was a man," Laine said, rather brusquely as they again passed the old beech that was sign to turn right.

"Elf then," Ranien countered rather impatiently. "Who is this elf?" He was not so sure he wanted to know.

"As I said, I do not go around telling everyone about my interests," Laine answered more briskly than ever. The elf raised an eyebrow at her curt manner. Her gait quickened, and Ranien was nearly jogging to keep up with her. She became very annoyed that he seemed to be doing this effortlessly while she had to breathe harder to do a power walk.

"What's this?" the elf mocked. "Secrets between friends? When, since you got here, did you not tell me everything?" He was nearly level with her, and seeing this, she walked even faster, her legs starting to ache.

"You forget I have only been here a few short months, Ranien," she spoke, her voice forced, as she was using most of her breath to keep up her pace. The passing landscape was now a blur of green and brown, as she did not bother to see how beautiful the actual grass, trees, and flowers were. "There is a lot you do not know about me."

This comment went straight to Ranien's heart, as he had started to consider himself a confidant of this human girl. However, what she said was true and likewise, she did not know all about him. He stopped his footsteps but she walked on, not slowing. "Do not walk too fast," he called coldly after her, his anger rising and he could not keep it in check. "I hear humans are especially clumsy."

Laine ignored this comment and did not turn, but his words stung her as she realized that he was referring to her first week in Mirkwood, when he had been her first friend. Biting her lip and refusing to feel guilty for her own snappish manner, she then entered the palace through the side door, never looking back.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2

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"Lórien has been attacked by Dol Guldur," Ranien proclaimed as he burst into Laine's room unannounced. She leaped up, off of her bed, where she had lain, trying to finish a history of Mirkwood that she had found in the library, with surprise and shock at his voice, as he had moved silently and swiftly like all elves.

She was annoyed that he had not knocked, at least more than usual because of what had happened between them that morning. It took her a few seconds to process what the elf had said, but when she did, all annoyance slipped away. "_What_?" she cried.

Ranien did not bother to repeat himself, but said quickly, "King Thranduil has decided that Mirkwood will go to Lórien's aid, for Galadriel and Celeborn cannot face this alone." He was talking so fast that Laine had to listen very closely to follow him. "He is dividing the elvish armies into two factions. One will be led by Legolas, and it has already left this afternoon. The other is led by him, and we will be leaving in the morning."

The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, and tried to run this over her mind, but she did not get its full meaning before he opened his mouth again. "You are to come with the second faction."

Her brain flashed with anxiety and she set the book down on her bed slowly, bringing her hands to her temples. "Oh," was all she could say at first. All her thoughts of war had gone when Frodo destroyed the ring a few months ago and the Dark Tower had fallen. But now… Dol Guldur attacking Lórien? She remembered quickly that darkness had grown there until Gandalf had banished it. That had started Sauron's reign in Mordor, for it was then that the Dark Lord moved there. Could it be that there was still evil in the south of Mirkwood?

"Wait…" her brain screeched to a halt. "_Legolas_ is leading the first faction?" No wonder she had not seen him all day; but then again, she had been in her room the entire time… Ranien frowned, not expecting the prince to be the first thing out of her mouth when she heard this news. "Why is Thranduil not leading it?" she asked. "Why Legolas?"

The elf looked down his nose at the girl disapprovingly, but could not suppress the small pang of jealousy in his heart. "The prince volunteered to lead the first faction. Aragorn has gone with him as well. They will attack the forces of Dol Guldur from the left flank, as the _yrch_—" he nearly spat the word to show his malice for the foul creatures "—are not expecting Mirkwood to come. We are to attack on their right flank and back."

However, Laine was not interested in the war tactics, as she had always been a soldier, not a commander. Instead, her mind was trying to figure out why her friend would volunteer to lead the _first_ army of Mirkwood, or, as everyone knew, the most dangerous expedition. The fact that he was getting out of his room and stopping the flow of wine through his system was heartening, but why would he lead the _first faction_ of Mirkwood?

"He wants to die," the girl gasped in realization.

"_What_?" It was Ranien's turn to cry out in bewilderment.

Laine knew that the elf understood her, and also did not bother repeat herself. "That's why he decided to lead the faction, is it not? He knew that Maedhros would have gladly done it, or Celebfindel, or one of the others, but he wanted the position."

The elf gave a shrug, but his face sealed up and became expressionless. Laine wanted to hit him when she realized what that blank visage meant. "_You knew_ about this!" she gaped. "You _knew_ he was going to do this, and you did not stop him!"

Ranien opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by another outburst by the girl, whose fury was growing by the minute. In her mind, she suddenly remembered their fight that morning and everything just seemed worse because of it. "You _knew_ about this! And you did not stop him! Why? Think about _Legolas_, for God sake! And Thranduil, his father! Think about me--!"

Before she could finish Ranien slammed a fist into the nearby wall and she jumped in fear and surprise. His eyes flashed with anger and, Laine, having never seen anything but smiles and kindness from him sat down on her bed abruptly at his overbearing manner. "So _that _is what this is about!" he cried. "The elf you said you were in love with this morning, it is Legolas, is it not?"

The girl was too startled to answer, but the elf took her silence for assent. "Well, then think about this, Laine," he narrowed his eyes, but he could feel his heart collapsing inside of him. Tears surged forward, but he suppressed them, and instead, turned his hurt into more anger and fury. "If Legolas wished to rid his heart of the hurt from that servant girl, he merely needs to go to the Undying Lands. He does not need to _die_, as _humans_ do." His eyes flashed at the word "humans," and the venom that he used to say the word nearly matched his previous word, "_yrch_."

During all of this, the girl felt a lump grow in her throat, and however she tried, she could not swallow it and let the words she wanted to say come out of her mouth.

The elf began to jump to conclusions, something he usually never did, but now, his heart hurt too much for him to think straight. He took her second silence for guilt, and felt a cold and hollow feeling surge through his body. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Laine watched as his face drained of all color and expression for a second time. She desperately wanted to say something, but the lump in her throat would not go down, and her voice was lost somewhere in the darkness of her sadness.

Ranien opened his eyes again, and found that he was surprisingly composed. His head cleared, but his heart still ached. However, this only further sharpened his visions and he knew what he must do then. "Gather up some things," he said in an indifferent tone that the girl had never heard from him before. "Go to the armory and choose your weapons. We leave tomorrow morning."

With that, he was gone.

"Wait!" Laine called after him when she finally found her voice again, but it was too late. Her voice was rusty and it barely came out as a whisper. By then, Ranien was far down the hall, and even his elf ears could not have heard that sound.

Holding her head in her hands, she fell on her back on the bed, and tried to figure out what she had done wrong. She had just lain down when Melian burst into her room. The girl sat up, thinking it was her friend again, but seeing Mel, she again groaned, covered her eyes, and fell back into the softness of her mattress. "Doesn't anyone around here knock?" she muttered, and grabbed her pillow and dropped it over her face.

The servant girl, however, did not seem to notice the human's strange behavior. "I am to go as a servant to the Lord Thranduil to battle, for Lórien has been attacked by Dol Guldur!" she cried in anguish. "And... and Legolas is leading the first elvish battalion!"

Laine gave a groan from under the pillow and thought that banging her head a couple of times sounded like a good way to get rid of all the buzzing in her mind. Instead, she threw the pine-scented pillow over her head and nodded. "I know, I know, I _know_. And what am _I_ supposed to do about it?"

Melian knew she did not have to be as a servant around the girl, and sat down on the bed with melancholy. Laine's heart was aching for her friends, but she was also exasperated by everyone's stupid decisions and wondered why no one thought before they acted. "You are to be on the battlefield," the elf-maid said, a little hurt that her friend seemed so indifferent to her feelings. "You could look after him—"

"Look _after_ him?!" Laine jumped up from the bed and began to pace. "I won't even _see_ him, how can I look after him?" She looked at the imprint of where Ranien had slammed his fist, saw a bright sliver of blood, and a mysterious pain shot through her heart. _No_, she thought, realizing what it was, and tried to forget it by being even more savage to Melian. "_You_ caused this, you know!" she spat. "If you had not gone and kissed Maedhros and said it was for everyone's good, none of this would have happened!"

She turned around to face the servant girl to say more, but the look of horror, mixed with surprise and injury, on Melian's made her stop. Before she could apologize, the servant girl got up, expressionless and marched out of her room.

"Oh, _great_!" Laine cried. Now she had _two_ friends angry at her, and tomorrow, she'd have to go marching to a battle she had not even known about until today. "This is just wonderful!" she said to her bed and threw the pillow as if it had done her a great wrong.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3

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Laine marched on, despite the ache in her legs, and hoisted the bandolier that carried her sword on her back a little bit higher. The band of elves had been marching for nearly three days now, only pausing to sleep for six hours and then pressing on at a grueling pace. None of the elves seemed to mind, but as the forest became more and more sinister, the girl became more and more tired.

She had ceased to notice the giant spiders that hung down from the thick boughs, spinning their huge webs just low enough so that if she did not pay attention to the road ahead of her, she could get a head full of the sticky material. She remembered when she had been through the forest during the hunt a few weeks ago, where she had been mortally afraid of the giant arachnids, but now, she had slept under them, walked under them, and breathed under them for more than two days, and they did not seem so imposing when traveling with a battalion of three thousand elves, all armed.

As she marched, Laine fell into her own thoughts, as Ranien seemed to be dutifully avoiding her and Melian had to travel with the rest of the servants and healers who came along. None of the other elves seemed very engaging, and under the dark eaves of Mirkwood forest, their fair hair and faces cast off eerie glows.

She could not forget her friends in the first faction, and hoped that Aragorn and Legolas were not yet in battle, or if they were, then for them to be safe from harm. There was talk of Orcs fluttering among the elves, saying that there were mixed groups of the large Urûks, small Moria Orcs, and Mordor ones that assembled as Isengard, Moria, and Barad-dûr were destroyed in turn. Laine had met each type, and did not wish to see any of them ever again.

Now, they had attacked Lórien, but the last time she had been there, she remembered that Haldir and his band of elves had slain a whole troop of Orcs that had followed the fellowship into the Golden Woods. There must be a lot more if Lothlórien could not deal with them. She hoped to God that Legolas and Aragorn were all right.

Thinking of Legolas, she remembered Ranien's reaction the night he first told her of war. He had accused her of loving the prince, when in truth, she thought of Legolas as a brother. She did not know what in all of Middle-Earth was going on in Ranien's head, but she believed that if she let him cool off for a few days, he would become back to normal. But when he had hit the wall, leaving a mark, she remembered seeing blood on his knuckles and on the wall. That jolt in her heart… all right, well, he was her friend after all.

Thinking this much, she shut Ranien out of her mind and stopped as the captain of her section called a halt. It must have been night, but she could not tell, as in these southern parts of Mirkwood, where it was untamed and unmanned, the trees had grown so thick that sunlight could not be seen regardless of the time of day.

This second battalion was split up into three separate small classes, and each of these split up finer until the smallest section only consisted of twenty elves. Laine did not know if it was fate or just the gods playing a trick on her, but Ranien just happened to be in her section.

"We shall stop and rest for the night!" the familiar elven voice of the section leader called to her group, and they broke away from the rest of the army. Two other sections came with them, but the rest marched on.

Confused, Laine asked the elf next to her what was going on.

"The army of Orcs is not to be very big," he spoke to her with a thick Elvish accent. She was use to this, as many of these elves never left Mirkwood and most did not bother to learn the Common Tongue. "They are expected to be grouped together and we shall raid them with small bands after the first faction attacks their main force."

The girl did not see the genius of these tactics as the others did, and raised an eyebrow at this explanation. _Why not just attack them on the flanks and back like we planned before_? She thought, and shrugged. After all, she was not the commander of this army. Thranduil probably had something planned.

* * * *

Of all the coincidences and ironies, Ranien had to share a tent with the human girl, though he desperately did not wish to ever speak to her or even see her again. Only by forgetting her, he could forget the pain in his heart, he reasoned, and Laine seemed to have been able to sense his hostility and stayed as far away as possible. But though she stayed out of his sight and did not speak to him, she was ever on his mind during the days and nights of the long march to Lórien.

Even when smelling the infrequent cool breezes that got through the lush canopies, he was reminded of the flowery scent of her hair and the warmth of her breath upon his skin when she was near. Seeing the exotic leaves and flowers of the trees, he was reminded of her smile, equally exotic and beautiful. The dewdrops on the undergrowth in the mornings reminded him of her eyes, sparkling and brilliant, forever laughing. She only gave him looks of confusion now, as he was sure she did not understand his anger, but even these were rare, as she always turned quickly away when his fierce gaze fell on hers.

The three other elves that shared the tent with them trudged in, bringing in the human girl, who seemed more exhausted than Ranien had ever seen her. She yawned, and the other elves looked disgusted; Ranien only thought she was adorable. This action, along with passing wind, belching, and some other functions such as bum scratching belonged strictly to other races, and most elves found it appalling when humans, dwarves, or hobbits did them in front of them.

Whereas the three other elves gathered to speak in low voices in their own tongue, Laine yawned a second time, unclasped her sword from her back, walked out of her boots so that they were left in a heap on the side of her bedroll, threw her armor over her head, and laid down. Before she even completed a third yawn, she was in dreamland.

Watching the content expression on the human girl's face, Ranien's heart ached to have been so horrible to her over the past days, but he could not do a thing. _She loves Legolas_, he reminded himself, and sat back on his own blankets, thinking. _And the prince deserves her. He needs someone like her to mend his heart._

_* * * *_

Laine woke in the middle of the night to darkness. At first, she did not know what had awoken her, but when she heard the first cry of pain and the second, she was out of bed and pulling on her boots. Before she even got her sword bandolier on, one of the elves had sprinted out of the tent already. She only knew because of the gust of wind that blew past. Struggling with her armor, then deciding to damn it all, Laine kicked aside the breastplate and pounded out of the tent, unsheathing her sword as she went. Her mother's voice popped into her head, saying, _Never run with sharp objects_! She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

However, the scene before her stopped any emotion that was about to come through. She had never seen so much _light_ in Mirkwood before, and blinked, thinking her eyes were deceiving her. But the red and orange silhouettes did not disappear and danced madly through the illuminated trees and reflecting off of the dark greens of the elvish tents. The flames crackled and licked to their own tune, and the guttural cries and laughter of Orcs filled the forest with a macabre and death-filled soundtrack.

An elf darted past her, bow in hand, and a long shaft whizzed by her head before she fully realized what was happening. An eerie scream rose as the arrow found its mark, and the girl gasped and surged forward, sword in her right hand, pointed to the ground. _A raid_, she knew, and had no time to think more. So intent was she upon her unseen quarry, that she did not see directly in front of her, and suddenly, her foot caught, and she was heading face first for the ground. Dropping her sword somewhere along the way down, she caught herself with stinging palms and scrambled to flip around and see what she had tripped over.

Staring back at her was the headless form of an elf. The logical part of her screamed, _It's just the night watch!, _but the impractical half of her screamed literally. Very unceremoniously, she kicked the headless corpse away from her, ignoring the dark liquid staining the undergrowth, and began to clumsily crawl forward. She ran head first into the sturdy and stinking leg of a seven-foot tall Urûk-Hai that had been waiting for her.

The blood rushed through her ears and she gasped, as she knew she was trapped. The mad glee in the fetid creature's eyes was enhanced by the wildfire that was quickly eating away the forest's canopies. It howled in triumph and raised its curved blade for the kill.

Rule one of survival in battle: never lose your weapon. _Broke that one_, she thought bitterly, _and I haven't even been in battle for five minutes._

_Sword! _her mind urged her frantically. _Where the hell is my sword_?! Like lightning, the rusted blade made for her throat, and acting on instinct, she dropped to her belly and rolled back towards the body of the elf. _Sword! Where is my sword?!_ But her rolling body felt neither the biting pain of the scimitar nor the cool metal of her weapon, just the prickling of the small vegetation on the ground.

Laine stopped rolling, and came up on one knee, and looked up. The Urûk was not as stupid or as slow as she thought it was, and it was still standing over her, blade ready, having followed her rolling form. It showed its blackened teeth, and the girl could only watch in horror, as he got ready for the swing. Her sword was still nowhere to be found! She was going to die like this!

_NO!_

The Orc stopped in mid-swing and froze, giving a squeal of pain. Its eyes glazed, and suddenly, it fell back as the stern but comforting face of Ranien appeared behind it. The elf had a bow in one hand and his hunting knife in the other, the blade dark with blood nearly to the hilt. Laine realized she was panting in fear and tried to calm her breathing. She gave him a nod of thanks that he did not acknowledge and recovered her sword, which was under the stiffening body of the dead watch. Ranien helped her to her feet, but she noticed that his eyes were still hard with coldness and anger.

Both running forward, they entered the worst part of the raid, where nearly five tents had caught fire and bodies of both Orcs and elves littered the ground. Despite the unexpectedness of this attack, some of the elves had managed to pull together a defense in the unburned, northern area of the camp, having climbed the trees and were now aiming their arrows at the Orcs on the ground. It was a miracle as how they got up there, as the north was where the Orcs were coming in to attack them. However, the Orcs had been smart enough to not let the elves run amok and all sides of the encampment were up in flames except, curiously, the north, where the onslaught of Orcs came through.

Few now made it to the rim of the camp, as the elves were loosing arrows so fast and thickly that it seemed impossible for any Orc to even run through the deadly shower. Ranien's knife was sheathed and an arrow had left his bow before Laine even selected her target.

However, what she lacked in speed, she made up for in skill, as she swung her blade expertly and hewed the head off an unfortunate Moria Orc. She did not stop to see it fall, for her action had drawn a gabble of thug-like Urûks towards her. Two fell dead from elven arrows, but three more remained, all of them over seven-feet tall and at least three times her weight.

She parried a blow from one, and forgetting the strength of these creatures, she nearly had her sword wrenched from her hands. Screaming with equal fear and fury, she drove her blade into one of the Urûk's necks, her arms already aching with effort. Drenched in cold sweat, and fighting the deadly heat from the roaring flames, she backed away from the two other Orcs, the blood on her blade running down the hilt and warming her hands, making them slicker than ever.

She fought on, oblivious to all else, until another Mordor Orc joined the fray and the point of his blade glanced off the side of her upper arm. She gave a cry of pain and nearly lost her weapon for a third time. The other Orcs took this chance of weakness to increase their attack, and soon, six Orcs surrounded her, circling closer and closer. One made a poorly coordinated swipe at her abdomen and paid for it with its sword arm.

Snarling as savagely as her foes, Laine took this chance to leap out of the circle, only to just miss a black-feathered shaft aimed at her head. So the Orcs had archers as well. At the moment, she did not contemplate how large the attacking forces were, and did not think for a second that the elves could possibly be losing. However, one thing did catch her attention: the Orcs were coming from the north.

Dol Guldur was to the south and Lothlórien to the west, so why would Orcs come from the north? In fact, straight from the road they had come from? Thinking this, she jumped away from another oncoming enemy and slashed viciously back. She was too fatigued to do more, and knowing that she had never been professionally trained as a warrior, Laine began to move back to the outskirts, where the forest fire was now spreading in all directions.

"Ranien!" she gasped, as an elf seized her by the shoulder. At the same time, a clear, ringing blast filled the forest. Both looked in the direction of the horn, for they knew what that meant. "No!" she cried, and tried to go back into the fight, hoping to reverse their fate.

"Laine!" the elf held her shoulder with an iron-grip so she could not move. "It is an order!" he told her despite her protests. "And fighting in this army, you are to obey all orders. Now run!" He dragged her northward, but she gaped, open-mouthed at the losing battle.

The clear elf horn sounded again and was suddenly cut short. Their leader was dead. The horn… it was the last resort, only used in desperation. Only used in a battle that was sure to be lost. They had surrendered, and all living were to flee.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4

* * *

**

Determination etched into every corner of his face, Ranien pulled at the human girl who had become as rigid as stone when the call for surrender sounded. Usually, surrender meant dropping weapons and submitting to their foes, but these foul creatures of darkness were determined to kill until the last elf. If any were found alive later, they would certainly be victim to inhumane torture and a fate worse than death. With the dark sorcery and instruments of Dol Guldur, captives would be stripped of the very essences that made life bearable: love, kindness, beauty, and compassion. They would become Orcs.

The elf stopped this horrible thought, keeping escape first on his mind and revenge last. However, both would be impossible if Laine did not start moving. "Laine!" he stopped and shook her with his free arm, the orange glow of flames making him look feverish and demonic. "We must go!" When she still did not respond, he backhanded her fiercely, the first time he had ever raised a hand to her. Immediately, he felt the pain in his heart as if he had hit himself and felt guilty and disgusted for doing such a thing.

However, this was no time for apologies, as black-feathered arrows shot pass the pair, missing them by a hair's breadth. The girl staggered at the hot stinging in her cheek, but woke to the world around her. Her brain cleared, and she saw her friend's motive. "No," she quickly analyzed everything before her, shouting over the din of the flames. "Not north! Look!"

Many other elves had Ranien's idea of running back to their homes in the north, but whether out of fear or the velocity of the momentous events, they failed to realize that Orcs were pouring into their camp from that direction. As the elves climbed trees or ran to pass north, they were shot or hewn down by the seemingly endless onslaught of Orcs.

"South!" the girl screamed, and turned, only to find that walls of destructive flames surrounded the entire camp, eating away at bough and leaf, and always spreading. It was a dead end. They were trapped. The Orcs had planned the attack like this, knowing they had more troops. The elves never had a chance.

She gripped Ranien's hand, ignoring the needles in her cheek, and tried to find a way out. The elf tugged at her suddenly, and her head jerked in the direction he was looking at. An important thing to remember when traveling through southern Mirkwood, or even northern Mirkwood, when a stranger, was to never stray from the path. Ancient magic that even Thranduil sometimes could not control shifted the woodland paths, and while one may only be following a stream that flowed next to the road, he may return to find himself completely lost.

Because of this, the elves had camped directly on the path, making them vulnerable, but it was the wisest choice to make. Entire parties had disappeared for wandering off the roads. Near the path, the underbrush was low, and trees grew around, so the paths did not appear as dense. Now, staring down the path, the two saw that fiery branches had fallen on it, and most of it was inaccessible, except a small gap, where idle flames danced only a foot off the ground.

Both ran towards this Valar-sent mean of escape, leaped over the low fire and ran. No one noticed this odd pair, joined by their hands, their weapons still tightly clasped in their palms, fleeing the scene.

* * * *

"My liege," the king's private attendant cried, "Look!"

The largest part of the army had settled for the night in a clearing that they had found near the road so that the night sky was visible. A dozen heads turned to look at where the elf was pointing.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel," Thranduil gasped. Behind them, many leagues off, where he was sure the small group of elves had been left behind, rose the red glow and gray smoke of flames against the night sky. Before he could say more, a faint blast of a horn cut through the silence of the darkness.

One of Thranduil's captain's eyes hardened and he turned to the king. "My lord, shall we send aid?" he asked. The other elves began to whisper in disturbed voices. Thranduil's mind quickly began to think this through. But that section had been further north, how could Orcs from Dol Guldur have slipped past without them noticing? The king looked around bitterly at the trees. When he had been younger, he had known every trunk and twig in Mirkwood like the back of his hand. But when the Shadow had come, he went south less and less, and now, Orcs and other dark creatures had rendered this place unrecognizable.

"My lord?" the captain prodded.

"No," Thranduil decided with finality. "They are too far north and we will not make it in time. Let us hope the Valar are with them." And if the forces of Dol Guldur were powerful enough to send troops this far north, they must have known that Mirkwood would aid Lórien in this war. Therefore, their forces would be much larger than he had counted on, and his son would need help; it was a wonder he had not yet sent a messenger or a hawk. They had to press on with all possible speed if they were to proceed with his strategy.

* * * *

Melian soon heard of the forest fire and the plight of the section that had been left behind from the servant tents. _But so far north_? she thought in horror. And Laine had been with those elves that surrendered. Perhaps this _was_ all her fault, like the human girl had said. After all, would Legolas have volunteered to lead the first faction if she had not done… well… what she had done? No. The prince hated the responsibility and he was not glory-hungry; he would have left that position to another.

Laine.

She had the right to accuse Melian that night. She had always been the go-between with the two of them, and she knew both sides' problems, making the burden even heavier upon her own shoulders. But until the night she had burst out in anger at the servant, she had held together well, always smiling and ready with a laugh for everything.

_I never meant to bring you into this_, Melian told her silent. _And I am sorry. Please forgive me._

_* * * *_

A long way west, between the trees of Lórien and Mirkwood, a bloody battle ensued, the elves upon one side and the Orcs crowding around in a crescent shape as the elves fought their way in. Legolas had long since abandoned his father's strategy, and hoped that he would understand, for the forces of Dol Guldur would have crushed both Lórien and Mirkwood if they did not fight together.

The prince fought on recklessly, shouting orders for the safety of others, but pushing on without a thought for himself. _Either way, I shall leave this world_, he thought. _Whether by the gray ships in the Havens or in War_. He might as well take as many of these foul creatures with him when he went.

A blade cut into the arm guard of his armor, and Legolas grimly hewed the head off of his attacker with his injured hand. He had long ceased to feel pain. As a matter of fact, he had ceased to feel anything. His heart had left his body, and he wanted to laugh humorlessly at the pointlessness of the world.

And as for Melian? He was grateful that he could not feel, for this emptiness was bliss compared to the ripping sensation as he felt his body being torn apart when she had kissed Maedhros.

Maedhros.

He felt no malice towards the elf. After all, all was fair in love and war.

* * * *

Aragorn and another elf slew a huge Urûk at the same time. He gave him a quick salute for thanks, but a familiar face appeared before him. Indeed, he had not seen this elf since he had last come to Lórien. "Haldir!" he broke into a grin. "_Mae govannen!" _

Haldir returned the greeting, but his face was not reflective of the man's expression. "You would do well to watch your prince!" he said in Sindarin. Aragorn followed his gaze and saw that Legolas was surrounded by a rabble of Moria Orcs.

"He is suicidal!" he cursed and rushed forward to help the prince. Haldir nodded at his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, and the three hurried after the man. The Mirkwood prince was fighting valiantly, but he was drastically outnumbered and numerous injures slowed him. "Why is he so reckless?" Aragorn lamented, cursing, and forced his way towards the ring of Orcs around the prince. For a moment, his vision of Legolas was obscured as a swarm of Orcs rushed at him, making him nearly blind to all else.

"Aragorn!" Haldir cried from behind him. He and his brothers had been swept back by another tide of the enemy. "_Dago hon_!" he pointed wildly and the man turned, pushing Orcs out of his way. He saw Legolas finally, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

A small Orc came up behind the prince, its curved blade at ready. With an unforgivable sneer of cruelty, it raised its weapon. Legolas was too occupied with five other Urûks to notice this one enemy who sneaked up like a coward. Aragorn had no bow, and could not kill the Orc like Haldir wanted, so he pushed closer. "Legolas, behind you!" he screamed desperately, but he might as well have been trying to out-scream a cave troll. The sounds of battle cries and screams of death drowned out his thin voice.

The blade came down, sinking deep into the prince's back.

* * * *

Legolas staggered, feeling warm liquid running down the small of his back. He sank to the ground, his face to the grass, breathing ragged. His sword slipped out of his hands as his fingers had turned to jelly and fell onto the grass beside him. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him so he was on his back, looking up at the pale night sky. Sucking in air labored the elf so much that he could not do much else.

The ugly face of an Orc appeared. It laughed, its upturned nose snorting the clean Lothlórien air, and used the hilt of its sword to strike the prince over the head. Legolas gasped, blinded for a moment, his head spinning, but he was not yet dead. Orcs enjoyed death, fed in it, _reveled _in it, and this Orc was not just going to kill him, it would _destroy_ him.

"Pray to the Valar," it mocked in broken Common. But to its surprise, Legolas only grinned. It snarled at the unafraid expression on the elf's face and sank its blade into the elf's abdomen.

After everything he had been through, the prince welcomed death.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5

* * *

**

Laine ran…kept running…did not know how _long_ she had being running. She did not remember exhaustion, fatigue, or the burning sensation that should have been in her legs. Ranien kept moving in front of her, and because they were joined at the hands, she followed doggedly, her heart racing and her breath heavy in her lungs. The warm spring scents of forest nights filled her nostrils, and oxygen tore at her throat.

Her memories were a blur, and she never saw the root in the path. Ranien was an elf and naturally sprang over it, but as she was human and the eaves of Mirkwood blocked out all light from the stars, she ran right into it and tripped for the second time that night. As if by instinct, she lost her weapon and her grip on the elf's hand and landed on her forearms, the small vegetation ripping the sleeves of her thin tunic. Despite her stinging arms and the burning on her upper arm, where the Orc blade had cut her, she could not get up. Lactic acid coursed through her leg muscles, and her calves and thighs twitched from overwork.

Ranien stopped and looked back, forgetting his companion was human, not elf, and the grueling march that day must have worn her out. She had been sustained by adrenaline through the brief skirmish (for it was hardly a battle, he thought acidly) with the Orcs and their race here. His first reaction was to be annoyed with her, but seeing her lying prostrate on the ground, breath coming in shallow, ragged gasp, nearly broke his heart again.

He kneeled and turned her on her back, speaking softly. "A little ways more south," he told her gently. "You can make it." In truth, the fires could still be seen, and Ranien did not think it wise for two travelers to be stranded in Mirkwood, even for one night; they should find Thranduil's army as soon as possible.

The girl gave a pained expression, but hoisted herself up on her elbows. "Sword," she gasped out, even though the simple task of sitting up taxed her energy tremendously.

Though he was surprised and proud of the girl for being so protective of her weapon, he tried to reason with her. "You won't be able to carry it," he told her and helped her to her feet. She swayed, her legs aching terribly and nearly collapsed again when he let go of her. Quickly, he put an arm around her waist, and she leaned against his shoulder.

"Sword," she croaked stubbornly, and Ranien felt something warm drip onto his arm. She tried to walk again, but failed miserably and almost fell again. Her sword was just a few feet from the two, but her weak muscles and shattered nerves refused to let her move. The elf gently turned her, and looked at his arm, where the liquid had dripped.

"You are hurt!" he cried. That would explain everything. She was tired and was losing blood so fast, it was a miracle she was still awake. He took her injured arm, and saw a deep gash, nearly exposing bone.

"Just a scratch," she answered with difficulty, but her words were slurring and even in the dark, Ranien could see that her lips and face were pale. Her arm only throbbed dully and she had not looked at it since the Orc had nicked it. It had not bothered her, and she truly believed that some bandages when they had time would right it. "Sword," she muttered, and took a few tentative steps forward and retrieved her weapon.

It seemed as if it weighed a ton, but she managed to heave it up, the blade on the ground. Ranien, seeing that she was intent upon getting the sword, came up, took her by the waist easily, and slipped the weapon into its sheath. Then, he tore off the remaining tatters of her sleeve, exposing the wound fully, and made a hasty bandage that covered the wound by tying the rag directly above it. He hoped that this would slow the bleeding, but quickly, blood soaked the rag.

"Thank you," Laine murmured, her eyes half closed. "Sorry…" she gasped and fell against his shoulder unconscious.

The elf's heart ached as he checked her pulse. It was slow and steady, like that of a sleeper. Lightly, he fingered her hair and face, wishing for the hundredth time that he could hold her like that every day. He smiled slightly at his own foolishness, but touched his lips to her warm cheek, and breathed in her familiar flowery scent. Try as he might, he would never forget her, even if he never saw her again.

Lovingly, he put a hand under her knees and his other under neck and carried her down the path, into the darkness.

* * * *

Melian awoke with a start. With the trained instinct of an elf, she did not move, and lay listening, her eyes adjusting to the darkness around her. Wind whistled through the eaves above the tent, and her sensitive ears picked up the made scrambling of one of the giant spiders over the boughs to get to its web. An owl hooted some way off in a content way, probably having caught its meal for the night.

There was nothing else in the night, but Melian felt her heart pounding frantically in her chest, and drew a hand over it to ease her anxiety. Her mind whirred with macabre thoughts of Legolas in the battle at Lórien. _Do not think of that, _she told herself in a steady voice. _He is fine. There is nothing wrong with him. _She strained her ears, but nothing seemed out of the norm. However, she could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

* * * *

After approximately a half hour walk, Ranien was satisfied, as he could no longer see the glow of the distant fires. It hurt to see his beautiful homeland go up in flames, but he could not think of that right now, as the war with Dol Guldur had just begun. The girl groaned and shifted in his arms, but did not wake. However, the cut on her arm now only issued a trickling of blood, not the gushing fountain it was before. She had not woken during the entire trip and Ranien was content to let her sleep, for it seemed that in these days, only sleep wiped away the cares that settled on her brows.

The path turned, and at the bend, the elf set her down on the road, and sat down next to her, hoping the brush at the side of the road would prove sufficient cover. He doubted the Orcs would chase them this far south, but there were other things in Mirkwood than Orcs that were deadly. Spiders, he had met on the way here, but was sure that none would haunt them now. In the southern parts of the forest, even these evil creatures dared not venture.

He removed the bandolier and sword from Laine's back and loosened his quiver. He put the weapons beside him and drew the sleeping girl's head in her lap, providing her with a comfortable pillow. He drew his cloak over her body and tucked it under her with care. Then, leaning back against a tree, he absentmindedly stroked her hair, letting its soft, shiny threads run over his fingers like cold water.

Whatever he had to do, he would keep her safe. Looking down at the tranquil expression on her face, he knew it was selfish of him to keep holding onto her if she did not feel the same way for him, but he would surely go mad if he saw her in another's arms. But inevitably, she would go to her love, and even as good-hearted as she was, she could not keep evading this news to him, he knew. One way or another, she would be gone.

Ranien did not sleep that night, but cherished every moment with her.

* * * *

Just as Melian was about to return to her stay in dreamland, her ears pricked up at the sound of horse hooves beating on the road. The jingling of bells told her that it was an elven horse, and she sat up now, _knowing_ for sure that something was wrong. The sound of hooves slowed as they drew nearer, and someone dismounted. She weighed the chances in her head, but within a few seconds, she had gotten up from her bed and went out of the tent.

No one heard her as she sneaked up to the king's tent, for she knew that that was where the rider was heading. She could hear his footsteps, slow and deliberate, almost _dragging_ on the ground.

She stopped in her tracks and gasped. It must be an elf, but how was it that she could hear his footsteps? She surged forward, picking up her skirt so that she could run silently and stopped at the back of the king's tent, evading the eyes of the watch.

A few words of elvish were exchanged between the rider and the watch, and she made out from the gasps that frequently cut between the messenger's words that he was drastically injured. That would explain why she could hear his footsteps and why he was dragging his body.

She leaned her ear against the canvas of the tent, and began to listen to the conversation that went on inside.

* * * *

Thranduil rose from his bed at the warning of a messenger, and moved to the front of his tent to let the messenger in. A rather raggedy looking elf entered, an arrow caught in his back. He was holding a hand over his chest, and the king knew that the arrow had gotten in quite deep.

"Why have you come?" the king asked quickly, knowing that elf did not have long, for his features were pale and his eyes were dimming.

"A message from the prince, my lord," the elf said, pain in his eyes, but did not grimace. A bubbling sound in his voice told the king that he had a punctured lung. "I was shot when riding here."

The king nodded curtly, and nodded at a guard that was standing at the opening of the tent. "Find a healer," he told him, and turned back to the elf. He did not wish to have another dead to weigh down his shoulders and his heart ached for his people. "Quickly, and then we must heal you, for you have not long."

The elf closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself and answered, "The forces of the enemy are vast. You will not be able to hold them with the strategy that you have." He gave suddenly a gasp, and leaned forward, blood dripping onto the floors of tent. The king hurried forward and gripped him by the arm, holding him up. "Call for… for aid," the elf coughed. "King Elessar now leads the forces. Your son… your son…"

The elf collapsed into the king's arms unconscious as the healer entered the tent. An audible gasp came from outside, and three guards immediately went to investigate.

* * * *

From behind the king's tent, Melian gave a loud gasp involuntarily. _Legolas, what about Legolas?_ she asked herself. It could not be good if Aragorn was now leading the army. Why would Aragorn lead the army? The only reason would be if Legolas could not. And Legolas could not lead the army if he was dead…


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**

* * *

**

Aragorn looked at over the fields before Lórien and shook his head tiredly at the piles of dead, elves and Orcs all over. Then, stepping back into the tent, he sat down once again at the chair that he had occupied for the entirety of the morning.

They had won the battle, but just barely, and the forces of Dol Guldur were just driven back. However, the man was sure that once they had reinforcements, they would again attack, while the elves were weak, in a day or two. Turning to the cot, he looked at the still figure of his friend. Taking the prince's wrist, he felt his pulse, and was content when he found that it had finally become steady.

Legolas had been in throes between the living and the dead for the past day and night, but the magical healers of Lórien and the hand of Galadriel herself, had brought him back from the very hands of death. Now, with bandages covering his entire torso, he lay in a cot in unconsciousness, his eyes eerily closed.

Aragorn sighed, and brushed a hand over the elf's feverish brow. The Lady of the Light had said that it was just the fires of his own body burning away the evil that had come with the blade of the Orc, and that the fever would break within two days. The man did not doubt the lady, whose extraordinary healing powers surpassed even that of Lord Elrond.

"How is he?" the voice of Haldir came from the opening of the tent. The man nearly jumped a mile, for he had not heard the elf enter. He had been living amongst elves nearly all his life, and still, he could not get over their uncanny way of sneaking up on him.

"Recovering," the man said, going over to the counter to get a wet towel as an excuse for his sudden jumping motion. "His pulse is steady and he will possibly wake within the hour. Give my thanks to the Lady of the Woods."

Haldir smiled, a knowing look in his eyes and bowed, leaving the room. Aragorn laid the towel over his friend's forehead and breathed out a sigh of relief. It seemed that voicing his thoughts had calmed him, and now, he actually believed that his friend would survive this ordeal. Now explaining to Thranduil's quick temper may be the only problem…

* * * *

"Laine," Ranien shook the girl's shoulder gently. "Laine, awake!" Though he longed to spend the day with her, even if she was sleeping, he could hear the birds that were brave enough to come this part of the forest singing tentatively in the canopies, and he knew that morning had come.

The girl turned, her hair dragging along his lap, and faced his knees, obviously reluctant to return from her dreams, which undoubtedly, were much more pleasant than the current circumstances. On her side, he could see her womanly curves. Ranien bent over her, then quickly looked away. He was afraid that if kept staring at her beautiful, lithe, agile form, he would do something very bad indeed.

"Awake!" he said to the weapons next to him, and shook the girl's shoulder again.

The girl gave a groan, but her eyelids fluttered open. She rolled back onto her back and stared, very startled, up at Ranien's face. "Where am I?" were the first words out of her mouth, and the elf sighed with relief to hear that her voice was back to its normal, effervescent lilt. Then, she closed her eyes again, and furrowed her brows. "Oh, that's right, Mirkwood forest. For a second I thought I was back in Rivendell again, before the entire War of the Ring…"

Ranien gave her an incredulous look, but his heart gave a huge sigh of relief. "Sorry to disappoint you," he said with the same tone and helped her to sit up.

She stood shakily and looked around wildly, but other than that, she seemed to have recovered her strength. She then stared down at the blood-soaked cloth on her arm, and raised an eyebrow. The elf thought she muttered something about being "worse than she thought," but next he looked, she was looking back at him.

"Oh," Laine said with sarcasm, removing his cloak that was still wrapped around her body. "So you are talking to me again, I see." But the joy that she felt could not be suppressed, as she did not have willpower of the elves and a large grin broke the storm that had gathered across her face. She could smell Ranien's woody scent upon the cloak and her smile grew wider until she looked quite giddy.

"Yes, I am talking to you again," Ranien tried to sound indifferent, but failing. "But that is because I see that it will be the death of both of us if I do not."

"Don't give yourself so much credit, Master Elf," she snorted, threw the cloak back at him, and walked over and picked up her sword bandolier. "Having a bigger head does not make you any more handsome." In truth, she was so glad that the elf was talking to her again, that she did not care why. She was also very reluctant to relinquish the cloak. She began to fasten the bandolier over her chest again, as Ranien got up from his sitting position and began to pull on his quiver.

"If you have already forgotten," he raised an eyebrow, "it _was_ I that brought us this far." He picked up his bow and slung it over his shoulder

Laine gave him a serious smile. "I know," she said quietly. "And I thank you." Ranien held her eyes for a moment, and could not help but grin back when she was so happy.

Thranduil made his army start an hour earlier that morning, before the sun rose. The elves seemed to understand the urgency in their liege's voice, and did not complain or lag, but were marching southwestward at the first call of the horn. The messenger was under the care of the healers and would live, but the king ordered for him to follow later, for he would only hinder their march.

The king pressed even the infantry to run instead of march, which would have been very dangerous if he had been he had been leading an army of men. The path bent to Thranduil's mighty will, and it led them on the shortest way southwest to the Gladden Fields. His son's army had been on horseback, and undoubtedly, were three days' march ahead of them if they did not quicken their pace.

They would not rest that night.

The girl and the elf continued on their travels at a jog that both felt comfortable with. The girl was sure that she could have gone faster if her arm had not been going numb. The cut had torn through muscle and nerve, and though she was sure it would be fine in a few weeks, she had neither the time nor the medicine to heal it now. If they met anything dangerous, she would have to use her other hand.

Ranien was intent upon catching up the king, who was almost a day ahead of them. "He must have learned of the attack upon our section," he told the girl the theories he had come to, "and he knows that Dol Guldur is more powerful than he expected and will hurry to aid Lórien. He may have doubled his pace."

"Wonderful!" Laine grumbled. Elves need no sleep and little sustenance and could march for days without rest if need pressed them. It was practically impossible to catch an elvish army that was aware of its pursuer. The two had no supplies and her stomach was rumbling with hunger, as she had not eaten anything since last night, and she was far from an elf. However, neither of the travelers trusted the sinister-looking red berries that dotted the bushes next to the path. "I'm guessing that we can't rest at all tonight."

"If you feel you need it, just say so," Ranien told her. Laine stuck her tongue out at his back, rubbed her numb arm and jogged on, her sword bouncing on her back. He knew that she was too proud to complain and would die of exhaustion before she opened her mouth, and she knew he knew.

They ran in silence for a while, until Laine could not take the silence anymore. The birds had stopped twittering, and though she never thought this would happen, she missed the surprises of the huge black spiders dropping down haphazardly. Even the wind ceased to blow through the leaves, and an oppressive sense of darkness sat heavy on her shoulders. She was desperate to start a conversation… _any_ type of conversation.

"The other day you asked me who I was interested in," she tried the first topic that came to her mind, caught up with Ranien, and then immediately wished she had not opened her mouth. The night before must have knocked all sense from her head, for she had forgotten that it was a sensitive spot with her friend. She changed right then, "So… er… what about you?"

The expression on Ranien's face told her she could not have hit a more sensitive spot. Before she could apologize and run herself into a tree for her stupidity, the elf said snappishly, "Someone who happens to love the prince of Mirkwood." Laine's mouth dropped and she almost tripped over own feet. Her face grew hot, then cold, and she almost stopped on the spot.

The elf sensed her surprise and took her arm, waiting for an answer. He braced himself, building a quick fortress around his heart, hoping it would not shatter. Laine's face became a quick collection of expressions that showed the emotions racing through her mind, and it was almost comical to watch her twist her face in a rapid succession. "You like…" she asked incredulously, "…_Melian?_" She looked as if she was about to burst out laughing and sorry for him at the same time. "Sorry. I cannot help you there, Rae."

It was Ranien's turn to stare in surprise. "What? Melian? No!"

"Then another elf-maid in Mirkwood is secretly in love with Legolas? He is a popular fellow, isn't he?"

"Wait, you mean Melian is still in love with the prince?"

Laine stopped and swallowed, realizing her mistake. She had never _said_ she was not to tell Ranien; she had just sworn never to tell what the servant girl had done to Legolas or Thranduil. Rae's inquiring eyes told her that he was truly interested, and she had kept this information silent for so long, she was sure she would burst if she did not say something sooner or later. If anyone, she would tell Ranien.

Ranien seemed to feel the same way, and the girl grimaced as her hand spasmed, wanting blood. "Uh… Ranien? Could you let go of my hand?"

"What? Oh, sorry." The elf realized that he had been gripping the girl's hand so hard, his knuckles were white.

* * * *

The grueling speed of the army did not bother Melian for her heart was not in her legs as she hurried one of the packhorses along. Legolas was first on her mind and the wild beating of her heart was not attributed to her running pace. He could be anywhere on the Gladden Fields, for the messenger had not opened his mouth after losing consciousness, and no one knew exactly what had happened to the king's son. Her instincts told her the worst, but she could not believe that, for she would surely die if she gave it any credit.

And there was Laine…

Melian could not bear to think of the good-natured girl to be dead. It seemed so unlikely because she had been so bright, so full of life, that she could not possibly be lying somewhere in Mirkwood, eyes glazed and staring, immobile and impervious to stimulus.

The servant girl shuddered at the thought and ducked a large spider web with the clumsiness of a human.

* * * *

"You mean she did all of that so the prince would _hate_ her?" Ranien asked with disbelief. The two were jogging again, and Laine had panted Melian's story to the elf as they ran. She envied his ability to keep his stamina, and he talked as if they were sipping tea over a garden of roses, sitting at a table with lacey white tablecloth.

Patches of sunlight streamed through the forest's eaves, and they jogged southwest, the direction that the path led them. No creature dared venture this far south, and all was silent about them. Exotic flowers hung in full bloom, though it was late in spring, as they had never been pollinated, and a heavy perfume of a sickeningly sweet smell hung in the air. With this heavy scent and an empty belly, Laine grew dizzier than ever.

"She was not exactly successful, was she?" the elf seemed to have forgotten all of his past woes and was intent upon this news. He still cared for the prince, who had been like his brother when they were elflings, and the past few days of watching him drink himself away was heart wrenching. He could not blame him if the girl loved him for who he was. "So what are _you_ doing in the middle of all of this?"

The girl wiped a bead of sweat out of her eyes and wished, not for the last time, she had something to tie her hair back. "Me?" she seemed taken aback at Ranien's accusation. "I am only the middleman! I amtrying to get of my friends back together so that they will both stop moping and complaining to me! I am trying to stop Legolas from killing himself, which does not seem possible at the moment." She was panting, and her arm was starting to burn again; she preferred it numb. She gave the elf a dirty look and pressed on, cross that he had asked such a question.

Ranien backed off, and tried to keep his voice casual as he asked, "And you and Legolas are just friends?"

Laine, who was very tired, with her nerves hanging by a thread, interpreted this incorrectly and argued hotly, "No, we are not! He's my _best_ friend, and I do not plan on having my best friend _kill_ himself!"

The elf let out a sigh inaudible to the human, but he felt his heart unclench and fly free. He wanted to tell her right then, and would have if she had not suddenly tripped over a ring of used firewood.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7

* * *

**

Ghâshnazg sneered in the darkness of Mirkwood, looking upon the small and vulnerable elvish encampment on the Gladden Fields. This close to the fortress of Dol Guldur, he was not even afraid of the sun, though its rays still pierced his sensitive eyes. He longed to run into the throngs of elves and finish off the spoiled little prince of Mirkwood, who had wanted to seek glory all for himself and had run away from the rest of his troops, obviously thinking he would make some valiant hero.

He wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. He would only be truly satisfied to feel the elf's pulse quicken in fear as he crushed his windpipe, just slow enough for the elf to feel the pain. The joy of feeling a heart stop in the midst of panic or the rapture of soft, warm flesh turn cold and hard in death, excited Ghâshnazg so much, he wanted to throw back his head and roar. The exhilaration of death, so much _death_, was orgasmic.

But that ecstasy would have to wait. The Orc spat into the trees, grinding a budding plant with his heavy iron boot. The man had made him lose the elf. He did not know why, in all the Darkness, a man had joined the elvish forces, but his sword skills had been exceptional and the Orc had had no choice but to flee. After all, he valued his own hide more than that of a brat of an Elf prince.

But once night came, _oh yes, the blissful darkness of the night_, he would get his revenge on the man and satisfy his need of death by slowly suffocating the Prince of Mirkwood. Their forces were vast, having being replenished by the stores of Dol Guldur, and they were ready, even once the second of the pointy-ear's factions joined them. The Orcs were sure to outnumber the hateful straw heads.

When night came…

Oh yes, when night came…

* * * *

"Third time's a charm," Laine groaned and tried to get up, careful not to put too much weight on her injured arm, from the elvish campfire remains. "Maybe I'll stop _tripping_ now." Ranien gave her a small smile and helped her up gently, examining her bandages before even looking at the burnt wood. She grimaced as he moved her arm, and gave a low groan. His brows furrowed and hastily, he undid the cloth around her upper arm.

She gasped in pain as a trickle of blood oozed forth from the release. The cut was producing a sickly, yellow liquid and a coat of flaky, hardened mucous shaped itself around the wound. "It's infected," Ranien said gravely, knowing better than to use euphemisms around the girl. She expected him to cut to the point. "I will have to clean it."

The girl nodded, flipping a stringy lock of straw-colored hair out of her face. She gazed, almost curiously at the wound, and Ranien though she had not understood him. "It is going to hurt," he told her more blatantly.

She nodded, giving him a determined look, and replied, "I wish we had water."

"As do I," Ranien muttered, wondering how he was supposed to clean her wound without it. He took her other sleeve, took his long knife, and cut it at the upper arm, then ripping it the rest of the way. "I am sorry."

Laine seemed to want to focus on anything but her injured arm, which was looking uglier by the moment. "At least they're even now," she tried to joke, indicating her torn tunic and exposed arms. However, her tight smile was not at all convincing. Ranien hunted the forest floor and cut a length of a strange green plant and wet it in his mouth. She continued to talk as Ranien started to work on the deep cut and put the healing leaves into it. "Now, why haven't short-sleeves caught on as a trend in—ouch!"

The elf gave her a look of apology, but continued ripping away the decaying skin and the flaky substance on her arm with the assistance of his knife, the metal flashing in the patches of sunlight.

The dimness of the forest burst into stars of red and blue as the girl squeezed her eyes shut hard against the hot, searing pain that was now shooting up and down the length of her limb. She tasted blood as she bit down on her bottom lip and staggered as the elf touched the inside of the wound with the cool metal of the blade.

Laine gave a low whimper and longed to pull away, and only stood still because she was clenching the bottom of Ranien's tunic so tightly that she was sure to have made another bandage for herself if the elf had not quickly tied the hastily made poultice around her wound. She gave a sigh of relief, but managed to stand her ground as nausea washed over her.

"I am no healer," the elf told her, as he helped her to steady her stance with two hands under her arms. "But all warriors are taught a few tricks and this should hold until we catch up with Thranduil." Laine noticed that he had said, "until," not "if," and gave him a smile and a nod of thanks. However, when he let go of her, she nearly fell over again, as the loss of blood had left her light-headed and slightly disoriented.

"Let's just look at the campfire," she suggested, leaning on the arm that he was offering. After all, it was an excuse for her to not be standing without embarrassing herself. Ranien bent down next to her, having more experience than her in tracking and laid a hand on the ashes. "They must have left in haste," he told her. "For we do not leave signs unless we must." He looked around, but no footprints or other signs of an army were to be found. "I would say they were last here a little more than three hours ago," he estimated by the coldness of the ashes. "We should be able to catch them before nightfall."

The girl wiped a trail of blood from her still-bleeding lower lip and stood. "But if they know about the attack from Dol Guldur, then they will have quickened their pace, as you've said."

"We are faster," he assured her. "For they are an army and we are but two."

"Then let us hope we catch them before nightfall. I hate walking in these woods at night."

* * * *

Thranduil pushed his factions to its limits, but as he watched the woods darken as the sun traveled to the horizon, he knew that he would not come to the Gladden Fields before the moon was out. He did not know what need drove him to want to make this goal. Perhaps it was that night marked a milestone, calling an end to the day, dimming the hope to his heart that he would arrive on time. His son… why would Aragorn have taken over the first faction?

What had happened to Legolas? He could not be dead. After all, he was his only son and child, and he had proved valiant in other battles. He could not possibly have been inured with the skill he had with a bow and blade. But what other reason would the man have taken his place? Legolas could not _possibly _be dead.

No, no his only son.

But no more messengers had come. Thranduil tried to tell himself that no news was good news, but could it be that there were not more elves to bear messages?

He must get to the Gladden Fields as soon as possible. He _must_ get there before nightfall.

* * * *

Legolas opened his eyes groggily and did not move. He had to recollect thoughts, as he stared up at the unfamiliar canvas of a ceiling. He was thinking, so he was obviously not dead, and he almost laughed at the irony that he had thought for one second that he could pass blissfully on from this world. Staring at the green above him, he knew that he was in a tent, but how had he gotten there?

No doubt, he was in the care of the healers, but what did that mean? The battle with Dol Guldur, of course… they must have won or he would not be lying here, but dead on the fields with so many others. Where was everyone else?

_He had been on the ground, and the Orc had raised its weapon._ He was sure he had been injured, but why not dead? He could not feel his pains, and he could not move. His eyes were blurry and a buzzing sounded in his ears as if a whole horde of spring bees were singing next to his head. Though he had never had one before, he was sure he had what Laine called a "headache."

"_Suilad, mellon anim_," he heard a voice say, and as he could not move, he did not answer, but tried without avail to move his jaw muscles anyway. "Stay still," the voice said again, and the prince recognized Aragorn's deep baritone. "The healers have healed you, but to do so, they have given you a drug so you cannot feel your wounds. It would not be wise to move and reopen their stitches."

The prince swallowed and found his head was still mobile, though it took nearly all of his strength just to move his mouth. He licked his lips and croaked in a weak voice, "_Man no i-aur_?" (What is the day?)

"_Aur min ab nantach harn_," (One day after you were wounded) Aragorn answered, his face appearing before the elf, blocking the green canvas.

"I-dhagor?" (The battle?)

The man's face showed hesitancy, but the shadow soon passed and he smiled kindly. "You worry too much, my friend," he told the bedridden elf. "_Garam túr. Si posto, mellon anim. Nathon_ _dan_." (We have victory. Now rest, my friend. I will be back.) The man got up and put a hand on the elf's cheek. "_Aniron mae le._"

Aragorn walked out of the tent, only to be almost ridden over by an elf on horseback, fully clad in light elvish armor with a bend bow and a quiver full of arrows, ready for battle. Swifter than the wind, he descended and greeted the man, who bowed back politely. But the elf seemed impatient to get to the prince, and Aragorn knew that Legolas could not be bothered, and stood in his way.

"_I-ernil_!" (The prince) the elf said impatiently, "_Boe pedin guin ernil_!" (I must speak with the prince.)

"You can speak to me," Aragorn told him. "He is injured and is out of action. What is it?"

"_Glam_!" (Literally, "din!") the elf cried. "_Glamhoth! Yrch_!" (Orc-hordes! Orcs!)

The man's heart skipped a beat and he looked around at the small remnant of the first elvish faction. With Lórien, they would have a little over two thousand bows, not nearly enough for another battle. "_Man_?" (What?) he grabbed the elf by the collar. He must have heard wrong. It was not even a day since they had beat back the troops of Dol Guldur. How could they have recuperated so fast?

When the elf did not reply, he commanded, "_Pedo!_" (Speak!)

"_Ned I-taur_!" (In the forest!) the elf told him.

"When did you see them?"

"Only just now!"

Aragorn looked beyond the elf into the dark eaves of Mirkwood and was sure that he saw the slanted yellow eyes of an Orc. He closed his on eyes, muttered a prayer to Elbereth, and opened them again. "Get me the captains," he ordered the elf. "And tell them to hurry. We must be prepared for battle before nightfall."

* * * *

"The sun is setting, isn't it?" the girl asked, clutching her sides and staggering after the elf. She had been experiencing cramps and had had a stitch in her side for the past two hours. She was light-headed and the space between her lungs and hips felt empty. Laine was sure that if she did not eat something soon, her stomach would implode. She knew that she was fit after years of travel, but nothing had prepared her for this twelve-hour jog.

The forest was dark, and the only light entering was that of a blood-red sun. The elf in front of her glowed eerily with a vermilion etherealness, and she was reminded of the forest fire at the attack on their section. It was hard to believe that it was only last night. It felt as if she had been jogging for a century.

Ranien heard Laine's steady footsteps behind him falter and stopped, turning. He immediately came back to her when he realized her condition and put a friendly arm around her waist to help her. "I'm sorry," he apologized and used his own sleeve to wipe the cold sweat from her face. She leaned her head on his chest, panting, but comforted by the warmth and the mixed forest scent of the elf. "I forgot you were not an elf," he said quietly, cursing himself for his stupidity. He had forgotten that humans could not go on so long without sustenance. "We will rest."

She closed her eyes, not wanting to move from her position, for her legs felt like lead and her right arm was completely numb from the shoulder down. The elf bent down and kissed her hair lightly, but moved her so she was standing on her own again. She woke, and seemed to realize how close they were and pushed away, though Ranien's chest had been a comfortable pillow and she could have fallen asleep with his dreamy scent wafting about her.

Laine gave a start and shook her head. _How poetic you've become_, her head taunted. _His _dreamy_ scent wafting about you? And when have you ever thought someone's scent was dreamy?_

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, and Ranien gave her a startled look.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she quickly lied, pretending to be very interesting in the tress, though they had been running by what looked like the same scenery for the past few hours. _You must be losing it, Laine,_ she thought. _Talking to your own head._ "We should get going," she told the elf, embarrassed, excited, and feeling slightly awkward being so close to him. "We have to reach Thranduil before nightfall."

"You need rest," he said firmly, and pulled her down next to the side of the road.

"No!" Laine resisted, and stood. "We _must _get to Thranduil!" She realized how impertinent she sounded, and apologized. "I'm sorry, I just… I have a feeling that we _need_ to get to the elvish army before the sun sets." The elf raised an eyebrow. "Don't… don't you have this… _feeling_ that something's going to happen if we don't?"

Ranien did not speak for a while, but looked down at the path. Slowly, he stood and looked about them, feeling the breezes, listening to nonexistent sounds, and looking for something that Laine could not see.

"Yes," he finally answered. "Something is going to happen. The trees sing of it." The girl gave him a grateful smile for not thinking her crazy. "It will happen at nightfall."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8

* * *

**

"The sun sets," Aragorn whispered to himself. A whisper of wind mocked his serious tone, playfully pulling his hair and sending his cloak fluttering. The blood red rays of the sun seemed to portray the events that would happen that night. The man looked back at Mirkwood and the camp that was now empty. The elves had quickly utilized at his command and retreated under the eaves of Lórien, leaving a smaller group to slow the army of Orcs as the elves rallied.

As the sun sank lower, more Orcs could be seen hiding in the shadows of the great forest, just scraping its border so that it was impossible for the elves to have a clear shot at them. The foul creatures became restless as night beckoned to them with its thin tendrils of mist and the blanket of darkness. More and more slanted yellow eyes glared back at the man, like small lanterns in a sea of shadow.

Fingering his beard out of nervousness, Aragorn hoped that the messenger he had sent had gotten to Thranduil and that the king was coming to the Gladden Fields with all due speed. The man's heart sank with the sun, however, when he realized the distance the king had to travel. Even if he had gotten the message, it was impossible for him to reach the edge of Mirkwood before night.

Aragorn watched, all luminosity of hope fading from his mind, as the last shafts of the sun disappeared behind the distant Misty Mountains. Evening set in, without a warning, and without the usual gray light. Even the brilliance of Lothlórien seemed to diminish at the moment right after twilight and before the stars appeared. In that moment, the entire world seemed black, without the light of either sun or moon to guide it.

He turned back to the majesty of Mirkwood and saw a line of shadow appear before the line of trees. Orcs. They brought fire, death, and destruction. A chilling howl filled the cool night air, sending a shiver down Aragorn's back and caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise up, like tiny needles in his flesh. His breathing quickened, and he felt the cold hand of fear grip his heart as the shadow fed the darkness.

"It begins," he murmured.

* * * *

Ranien stopped in his tracks and Laine was sure that he made a movement that gave literal meaning to "prick up the ears." She caught up to him and watched as he turned his head a quarter of an inch to the right. She strained her own ears, but she could not hear a thing out of the ordinary. In fact, she could not hear _anything_. She thought that she would have been used this silence by now, but she still had felt as if she needed to suppress her breathing and whisper, so as not to disturb the placid woods.

"They are near," the elf said and nodded, as if approving of his guess, and shifted his bow on his shoulder.

"How near is near?" she asked.

"Three miles, give or take," Ranien answered. "Come." Laine blinked after the shadow of the elf in the twilight and wondered briefly, since he could hear elf footsteps three miles away, if he could hear her heartbeat quicken every time she looked at him.

_No,_ she decided, _for if he could, he would probably think I had a pulse of a rabbit._ Every time she looked at him, heard, oh Valar, even _smelled_ him, her heart went on a rampage. She ran blindly in to the darkness after the elf, cursing herself and cursing her heart even more. Damn all the gods for giving her such a weak and stubborn one, losing it so easily and not able to even admit it. Looking after him, she took a deep breath and focused on running.

* * * *

"Line!" Aragorn called to the troops. "Form lines!" The elves obeyed immediately, forming three lines against the oncoming hordes of Orcs, their armor rattling and clanking as they set up their defense. The night sky was filled with the screaming of ecstasy as thick waves of the army of Dol Guldur surged forward, unafraid, unhesitating, and ready to kill and be killed. Aragorn knew that there were too many of them for the meager elven forces to hold and hoped that the elves of Lothlórien were in the trees, ready to come to their aid.

The elves behind him drew their bows and arrows, barely making a sound as the elf hair and the soft willow bent, and took aim at the ominous creatures.

Aragorn looked again at the charging Orcs with pity, disgust, and hate. He immediately discerned their leader: the biggest, ugliest, and most likely the strongest of the entire host of Orcs. He gave it a defying glare; he had faced more odds than this in his lifetime, remembering riding up to the very gates of the Black Land and drawing out Sauron's forces. This should seem a stroll in the gardens compared to that, but his rapid pulse told him otherwise.

"_Hado I-philinn!_" (Fire the arrows!) he ordered, and the first line of elves loosed a mass of long shafts, feathered with the greens and yellows to the fashion of Mirkwood. The phalanx of arrows all found their mark. However, it was like attacking a bear with a needle or trying to kill an Orc by scratching it. "Second line!" he cried. The elves, as if one body, dropped to the ground and the second line stood, arrows ready. The Orc leader had not been killed and raced on with more fury, but laughing at the same time, ridiculing the elves, who were like a small plant trying to hold its ground through a hurricane.

"_Hado!_" (Fire!) Aragorn cried out again, drawing Anduril, which had already tasted Orc-flesh the day before. Arrows whizzed by his head, barely diminishing the barrage of Orcs. "_Hado!_" he ordered the third time, trying to lessen the enemy before he and the army had to face them head to head.

The first Orc raised its blade and was nearly upon the man, when it fell dead, an arrow in its carotid. The feathers on the arrow were the snow-white of swans, not the yellow and green of Mirkwood. All around the Orc, the first line of the enemy fell dead, similarly injured, without the man having to lift a finger. _The Lothlórien elves_! Aragorn's heart lifted a little. _So they have been able to assemble_. He watched as the creatures gave each other looks of disconcert, giving the elves time to draw weapons.

Suddenly, a cry rose up.

"Galadriel! Lady of the Light!" the elves shouted. Aragorn, despite every type of training he had had, turned to meet a shining, white brilliance, lighting up the night and piercing the enemy's eyes. It was as if Tinuviel was reborn with fair hair and light eyes, mixed with the dark beauty of the Evenstar. Illuminating all around her, the lady was like the dawn after a long night of perils, shining, giving hope, and raising the elves' downcast spirits. Night was gone. The unseen stars and moon were not needed, for here was the Brightest Star of all, like that of Elbereth Gilthoniel, beautiful and terrible.

Riding on a tall white steed, sword in hand, and leading a group of Light-elves as fair as she, flying towards the Orcs, was the Lady Galadriel, golden hair wild in the night breeze.

And even as the Orcs snarled and clashed with the elves, Aragon raised his sword in a war cry, feeling hope surge through his body.

* * * *

A jolt shot through Melian's body from head to toe, and she stopped so suddenly, the healer behind her nearly ran into her. She gasped, but continued to run.

Something had happened, and it had been paramount. She could not put her finger on it, and scanned the servants and healers around her, but no one seemed to have felt the same thing.

But something sounded in the elf-maid's mind. _We must get to the Gladden Fields_, it told her. She had never been in battle, and did not understand its concepts, but she knew enough to trust her instincts. They _must_ reach the fields before Lórien _now_.

* * * *

The elf and girl both gasped at the same time. Ranien gripped Laine's arm, and she saw the same fear in his eyes that she was experiencing. Neither spoke, but they understood, and she slipped a hand into his and both continued to run forward.

Something had happened, and it was crucial that they join Thranduil soon.

* * * *

Aragorn sank his sword into a small Moria Orc's neck and turned, sensing another to his left. He brought his sword up instinctively to parry. A tremendous force came crashing down on his blade, as if a wall of Minas Tirith had slammed into it, and his knees buckled under the pressure, sending him to the ground. A sharp pain shot up and from his kneecap, through his thigh, down his shin, and he screamed, clutching his leg with one hand and trying to keep his grip on his sword with the other.

The Urûk Leader stared him down, a malevolent grin on its black face. A crude helm covered its porcine visage, the beaten and rusted iron leaving red and orange marks across its nose and cheeks. Slanted yellow eyes with red pupils glared down at him, without eyelashes, and with no signs of eyebrows. It was pock-marked and a maggot thrived in one of the largest holes in its cheeks, squirming and writhing.

Aragorn tried, but could not get up, his legs having turned to jelly at the Urûk's roar. Without warning, it brought its sword down on Aragorn's raised blade, and the man cried out as his weapon was wrenched from his hands and flew a good ten feet away. Now nothing stood between him and the massive Orc, who stood at seven feet six inches, weighing at least three hundred pounds, all of it pure muscle.

The man scrambled for his blade, but the Orc kicked him directly below the lungs with a heavy boot.

The wind rushed from Aragorn's chest as a cracking came from his ribs, and he remembered flying through the air. He landed, his diaphragm contracting even more as blood rushed past his ears so he could no longer hear the battle around him. He opened his mouth, frantically trying to get oxygen past his ragged throat and into his deprived lungs. His vision swam into focus, and in front of his eyes, he only saw the Orc.

The battle was gone. It was only the two of them now.

The Urûk leered and planted a foot on his chest, cracking more ribs, ready to crush him.

* * * *

Thranduil could already hear the cacophony of battle before he even reached the edge of the trees. He stopped, his mind brining up horrific images of death and war, with the blood of the Fair Folk mixing with that of the Orcs, creating a stream, then a river, and then a sea of crimson. And the visual of his son, eyes closed, mouth drawn in a still, silent scream, lips pulled back, and nose wrinkled. The rest of his body was gone.

"Hurry!" he wiped his mind clean of these terrible thoughts, and urged his troops onward, picking up his own pace.

"_Yrch_!" an elf suddenly cried.

He was soon silenced by the snapping of an arrow leaving a bowstring, and he fell, clutching his chest, where a long, black shaft now protruded. But the cry had gone up, and the elves raised their shields in defense, scanning the dark trees. The Orcs could not be seen, but were heard and felt by all, their evil presence brining hatred and pity to the hearts of the elves.

More bowstrings twanged, and though most clanged off of shields, the yells of injured elves could be heard down the line of troops. The king hastily put up his own shield, and realized the flaw in his strategy that Dol Guldur had long perceived and was using to its full advantage.

There they were, like bubbled spirit trying to surge through the thin neck of a single bottle, trapped by the Orcs, like a cork hastily put over a bottle of newly opened champagne. The trees were thick with the foul creatures, and every moment led to more deaths.

"Push forward!" Thranduil ordered, his voice barely heard in the din of pandemonium. This was the only thing he could think of, and began to step down the path even when more arrows bounced off his shield. The attack was now thicker than rain. "Push forward!"

Despite pending death and inevitable injury, the elves pushed forward, their shields put over their heads or at their sides, going down the weary road, less of them at each step.

Thranduil cared not about death. He was not afraid of it, and he sometimes envied humans, who could live such a brief time and die without any regrets. But he had to stay alive for his kingdom and perhaps, if he was still alive, for his _son_.

_I am coming, Legolas_, he said in his mind, seeing nothing in the dark before him but the shadow of leaves. _I am coming_.

* * * *

Laine stopped, pulling the elf behind her, a heavy feeling sinking into her heart and pressing down on her from all sides.

"A battle!" she cried, hearing the war cries for the first time. "They have another battle! How?"

Ranien, who had known this for a long time, could only shake his head. "The armies of Dol Guldur have many tricks and dark magic hidden away. Let us just hope that we are not too late. Come."

The girl nodded, and followed the elf down the road, into, for all she knew, unavoidable death and destruction of all she thought to be good.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9

* * *

**

Legolas awoke again to darkness and gave a groan. The drugs that the healers had administered were wearing off, and he raised a leaden arm and touched his chest. The rough cotton and muslin told him that a huge poultice had been wrapped around his torso, all the way around to his back, and down past his abdomen. It was enough to tell him that his injury was very serious and that he had probably only been brought back from the edge of death because of the magic of the healers.

He tried to raise his head, and the sinuses blocking his hearing cleared, but it still felt as if he was raising a ton with his neck. The chaos of death filled his head, and he fell back against the pillow, panting.

There were Orc cries and the squelching of boots stepping in puddles of mud… or puddles of blood. The elf closed his eyes and shivered under the thin covers, the cold having nothing to do with the chill running down his spine.

Dol Guldur must have attacked again and here he was, injured, with no defense.

It was not that he did not trust Aragorn to command in his stead, but it was the fact that he knew that they had no hope.

* * * *

Melian did not know what spirit possessed her as she dodged and ducked the warriors, running past as black arrows fell all around her, piercing the elves and getting stuck in the ground, making the pass nearly inaccessible. She knew, however, that she had a purpose, and she needed to get out of these woods.

A healer that recognized her called her name, but she paid no heed, and with the natural grace of the elves, dodged the arrows on the ground. Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps Destiny made her impervious to the deadly rain that was falling, but arrows seemed to just fall short of her, flying inches next to her head, body, and limbs, and once, even getting caught in her billowing sleeve, but never harming her flesh.

If things had been less urgent, she would have gotten down on her knees and thanked Elbereth, but she could not.

A warrior fell dead in front of her feet, five shafts protruding from his chest, and she screamed in fright, disgust, and hatred for the Orcs. _They _dare_, _her mind was blind to all else but the brutality of the creatures that were once like her. _THEY DARE_! Her scream of terror turned to that of pure anger, and she bent down and grasped the sword from the dead elf's hilt, and pulled with all her might, bringing forth the heavy blade.

The angels or the demons that crazed her gave her impossible strength as she lifted the sword, the blade at least five feet in length and the entire weapon possibly outweighing her. The glitter of metal sent her into a bloodthirsty madness, and she plunged forward, the weapon in one hand, the blade held above her head, and ran through the line of elves.

The only image flashing again and again in her mind was that of killing: slashing and thrusting her sword through an Orc's neck and bringing forth the satisfying fountain of ruby to pay the due of killing so many of her brothers and kinsmen.

"Push forward!" she heard the king cry, and she took this literally. Pushing, shoving, and sometimes even knocking others down, she surged forward, more like a madwoman than a decent elf, and was nearly at Thranduil's side before she knew it.

Still arrows fell, but she had already forgotten her luck and took it for granted that she was still alive and whole. It was destiny that she should live.

The army broke from the trees, pouring forth, a leak turning into a full-fledged ocean, swarming from the forest. Arrows still flew, but less now, as the Orcs in the trees could no longer reach them with their short bows.

Melian did not look back, and no one seemed to notice the servant in her brown, drab, dress, sword in hand, plunging into the battle with Thranduil and the rest of the elven warriors. Their numbers must have been only three-quarters of that before they met the Orcs in the trees, but they were enough.

Giving a high cry of laughter, fury, and war, the servant girl was swept into the battle, scratching, snarling, kicking, and swinging. Her lack of skill was made up for by her energy, and more than one Orc was slain by her deadly combination of shin and groin kicking and sword-slashing.

Lost in the midst of death, she gave a short roar that resembled that of an Orc's.

* * * *

The man felt a rib break and with an already opened mouth, gave a silent shriek of pain, because there was no air left in him to produce any sound from his larynx. The Urûk sneered, raised its blade, but Aragorn was just in time to see another, wielding an elven blade, cut the Orc across the arm.

It was a pitiful blow of a novice, and it merely glanced across the creatures arm, causing more pain than actual damage, but the Orc removed his foot from the man's chest with a roar, and turned. Aragorn took in a lungful of the Valar-given air, but his strength had not yet come back to him, and he lay still, unmoving.

The warrior gave a piercing scream that chilled the man to the bone, an icy fist tightening around his heart, reminding him of an Orc cry. If he had been able to, he would have covered his ears, hoping never again to hear such a sound from the throat of one of the elven folk. For in that moment, he realized how the Dark Lord had made such beautiful people into the hated, foul Orcs.

All beauty and goodness has to balance with ugliness and evil, just as every day has to become night for this world to go on.

The elves were perfect because of a suppressed evil inside them that they did not even know of. Men could be driven to do inhumane things, and though it took much more for elves to come to the same fate, they could become full of hate, just as men. The evil of Sauron was able to bring this darker side of even the Fair Folk forward, and no doubt, mutilated their bodies to his desired effect.

Aragorn felt a bead of sweat drip down his brow as he realized more: if even men, such imperfect people, are made with as much hate as with love, then how much evil could come from elves, the very models of good?

He could not see the elf, who was diverging the Orc's attention from its prey, but he hoped to the Valar that the elf had not been driven to the same fate as the Orc because of his hatred for it. With another marrow-freezing cry, the elf thrust the blade through the Urûk's neck, where its helm met its armor. It made a gurgling noise in its throat, but its body went limp.

The elf extracted the weapon with ease, and the Urûk fell, flying crimson droplets spattering Aragorn. The man opened his eyes after the initial splash of Orc-blood, and looked up at the face of his savior, distorted in hate, but giving both fear and hope, for he knew now that Thranduil was here, but never expected this elf on the battlefield.

"Melian?"

* * * *

Laine was running at top speed, sword already drawn, in her left hand, ignoring the pain running up and down her right arm, for Ranien was easing it with his hand firmly in hers. However, when he jerked her back by stopping suddenly, she felt the wound tear and blood seep forth, a white-hot brand on her skin.

Before she could cry out in pain, the elf had put one hand over her mouth, having let go of her hand, and stopped her from running forward with his other arm around her waist. "_Yrch_!" he hissed in her ear, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise up, as he was so close, his mouth was only an inch from her ear.

Her breath quickened, not because of Ranien's warning of Orcs, but because her back was pressed tightly against his chest in more than a friendly way. The pain in her arm seemed to have disintegrated. "In the trees," he directed her gaze.

She tried to focus on the problem and looked into the darkness before her. She could see where the end of the path met the Gladden Fields, but not further. However, it was clear that Thranduil had gotten into the throes of the battle by the sounds in the night. She could only see pinpricks of torches in the distance, and wondered why the Orcs had decided not to burn the forest as they had done the night before.

The answer soon came when she looked toward the path itself. Almost directly in front of her feet, right as the path turned, arrows stuck out of the ground, nearly in a solid pattern. Among the shafts, dark figures lay, prostrate, and Laine nearly screamed again when she realized that they were dead elves.

The Orcs had hidden in the trees, ready for Thranduil's factions, and stopped them up like a dam. By the bodies littered among the arrows, the girl knew that the second faction was greatly diminished, and they needed all the help they could get.

Other than that, she could not discern anything, as she found it hard to concentrate with Ranien so near. She nodded once, and the elf moved the hand on her mouth, but to her delight, did not move the one around her waist. "How do we get past?" she tried to keep her whisper business-like, but failed to do so.

Ranien paused, then answered, "Climb the trees."

"I'm not an elf."

"Then we will run for it."

"No, wait," she said. "You can take the trees. It's safer."

"What?" she could almost see the mocking smile on the elf's lips. "And leave you, injured, mortal, and a woman at that, to take the more dangerous path by yourself? I do not think so."

"Then let's go," she intoned, though she was very reluctant to leave their accidental embrace. She tried to step forward, but Ranien held her back.

"Wait," he suddenly whispered, his tone more gentle than she had ever heard it before.

She turned, breaking away from him so she could look at him. In the night, she could only see the outline of his face, but his eyes peered forth from the gloom, shining brilliantly with their own light, with an expression she had never seen before. She looked closer, but it passed, and she was left breathless with anticipation.

"Before we go…" He took her elbows so that their chests were nearly touching, and she wanted to draw him into another embrace. "I want to tell you something…"

* * * *

The elf-maid did not respond to her name, but disappeared from the man's line of vision. Aragorn lay still until his breathing became steady, and hoped that no Orc stumbled upon him. A sharp pain still rose from his chest, and he knew that the broken rib must have shifted, and it would be unwise for him to move.

But he had to.

He had to get up, for King Thranduil was here, and he had to stay alive for Gondor… for Arwen…

Painfully, with stars appearing before his eyes, he sucked in his breath and tried to raise himself from the ground without bending his torso, and only moving his waist. He failed miserably, and fell back, the back of his head thumping against the hard grass.

He had to get up. _He had to get up_.

Aragorn put his elbows to the grass and breathed in once more with determination. Then, with all of his strength, he moved himself up with his arms, muscles straining, blind to everything except the pink and red stars in front of his eyes. The pain was indescribable, as his stomach hardened against it, his teeth clenching to block out all thought except for that of sitting up.

A hot lake seemed to spread across his chest, and he felt his skin give. A sickening cracking and ripping came from his torso, and he looked down at his armor.

It was leaking blood, and Aragorn's mind went into a state of shock.

Falling back a second time, twitching, he became unconscious.

His rib had broken through skin.

* * * *

Laine listened, slightly shocked, and her heart filling with a strange feeling she had never felt for this elf before as Ranien finished his whispered speech.

For a full minute, the two just stared at each other, Ranien expectant, and the girl's mind quite blank, gaping at the elf. Finally, she croaked. "You did not have to tell me that…" She seemed to lose her voice then, and had to swallow a couple of times before she could choke out her next sentence. "I already know." She felt her mind relaxing, and began to realize what the feeling was in her heart.

"You… you did?" the elf whispered, his lips only inches from hers. His arms had moved closer around her, and she had taken a small step forward.

She finally understood the nagging at the back of her brain. Ranien's speech had been filled with flourishes and nervous words that made no sense, but the final meaning was clear. All thoughts of Orcs were forgotten, and she clenched tighter at the lightweight sword in her hand.

She knew she to say something. He expected something.

"Look, Rae," she shook her head. "I know already. It's not news to me. I know women shouldn't go into battle. But I know what I'm doing.

She had never felt annoyance for this elf before, but now, it filled her heart.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10

* * *

**

Ghâshnazg snarled at the scene around him. Whereas before, the Orcs had had a doubtless victory, now, the forces of Dol Guldur and the elves were evenly matched. More elves had come than they had counted on, and there had not been enough slain in the trees as they had planned. And still, he searched for the Mirkwood prince. There was no possible way that he could be in battle after the injuries he had inflicted upon him, but he had to be somewhere.

The Orc's beady eyes fixed upon the trees of Lórien, and something clicked in his malicious brain. Of course, all the injured and the ones unable to fight must be taking shelter behind those trees, and somewhere there, the little prince was hiding. He smiled, thinking of his promotion if he could present the head of the Prince of Mirkwood to the Darkness.

Without another thought, he hewed his way towards line of trees.

* * * *

Legolas was hurt. She knew it in her heart. He was grievously injured, and it was _her_ fault, and she had to get to him. Melian swung her blade blindly, hitting whatever was in front of her, not caring if it was friend or foe. All she knew was that she had to get the trees of Lórien. There, they would help her find him.

He could not die.

Not without her saying good-bye.

Her vision was blurred, not by tears, but by hate. She could not feel anything else for these _things_ around her. In the dimming of her sight, elves, Orcs, trees, blood… all seemed the same to her. The blade in her hand was just another killing tool.

All around her, Death happened. Death flourished. Death was in glee.

But it would not take her until she was with him. Then, whatever Fate had in store for her, she was ready.

She had to find him.

She had to find her heart.

* * * *

The girl and elf, after the awkward gap between them before, now stood in front of the path, unseen by the enemy in the trees, and holding tightly onto each other's hand. Darkness surrounded them, the night seeming to grow vaster and vaster as they stared down the seemingly endless path.

Ranien felt the girl's palm grow sweaty and heard her breathing quicken as she eyed the arrows in the ground. He gave her a nod, but she hung back. "Rae," she whispered, and he saw a bead of glistening sweat roll from her temple. "Whatever happens…" She would not look at the elf. "Whatever happens, we're in this together, right?"

The elf cursed himself once more for not saying anything. He had wanted to, and he had had the chance to do so before, but he could not find the courage. It was too late now, but he already knew his answer to her question, no matter what waited for them at the end of that path. "Of course," he told her.

They gave each other a look, both of their eyes filled with fear but an iron determination to do what they must. Then, they turned back to the path, as if one, and despite everything, made their choice.

Screaming in fear and excitement, adrenaline running through their veins, they ran forward, even as the Orcs cried out, "Elves!" Arrows rained down around them in an endless downpour, but guided by Ranien, Laine avoided the poisonous shafts. She could not see a thing, the cool air rushing through and tearing her lungs, but charged forward, the arrows thicker than the leaves in the forest.

Their weapons gripped tightly in their hands, they burst through the trees, facing the battlegrounds before Mirkwood. Ranien broke their grasp and fell into step behind the girl, and she realized, her heart surging, that he was protecting her from the thinning line of attack from the woods.

Still holding onto her sword with her left arm, she did not run, charge, or even jump, but _fell_ into battle, for any other word would have fallen short of how the sea of elves and Orcs somehow swept under her feet and nearly devoured her in its mass. She hacked clumsily with her left, and less deft, arm, not nearly getting enough power into her trusts and blows, and thus getting scratched, bruised, and jostled in return. Running a marathon that day had exhausted her, and even the remnant of the adrenaline from dodging death was wearing off.

Within five minutes, she was swept into the very center of the fighting, breathing hard, with more bruises from shields and other people's armor than she could count.

A small Orc with a snout, picked her as its next victim, and circled from its position, a scimitar gripped in both arms. Laine did not know what else to do except eliminate her potential killer before it could kill her, and stepped forward, sword tiredly dragging on the ground, and took a wild swing that the Orc easily ducked.

Fatigue set in, and she swayed on her feet, oblivious to the armies around her. Her head spun, and she struggled to hold onto her weapon and squinted at the Orc, not at all ready to parry. The Orc thrust its sword forward for a killing blow, but she swept her blade in an arc in front of her to block it. She did not know whether she was glad or not to not have armor, as the two continued their fight. However, her hold on her sword was slicked with sweat, and her right arm was too stiff and numb to do anything but dangle.

She was caught off guard, and it hit her on the side of the head with the hilt of its weapon. She staggered, stars blooming in front of her eyes. Gasping, she felt as if lightning had struck her right temple and the course of blood to her head faltered at this sudden attack, and all sense left her. Sucking in air, she waited for the killing blow, and looked up, her legs taking a mind of their own as she wobbled about. Her sight cleared a little, and the sounds, smells, and tastes of battle returned so fast, she thought that she would pass out from sensory overload.

* * * *

Ghâshnazg snarled at his new prey and watched as the human bobbed helplessly on jellied legs. This human was nothing compared to the elven princeling, but killing it was no trouble at all. He could even practice a few swings in its dead body after killing it.

Grinning with cruelty, he raised his weapon once again, ready to bring it down over the human's head and kill it instantly. But before he could, a strange pain flowered in his back, and he felt warmth stain his armor.

Giving one last roar, Ghâshnazg's vision blurred and he fell, dead.

* * * *

A firm hand gripped her shoulder, but she had no strength left to fight off her assailant, and closed her eyes, the sword slipping from her grasp, submitting. "Laine!" a clear voice called, and she was in the arms of someone familiar. Her eyes opened tiredly, and she looked up into Ranien's eyes. Their gaze locked, and the expression that she saw before, when he had held her before they took the deadly path pass the Orc archers, flickered over his pale blue orbs. She opened her mouth, but suddenly, the elf's attention shifted, pass her face, behind her.

Taking one last stand, and forcing her twitching muscles to work, the girl put her weight on her feet and turned, looking back the way they had come, at the dark vastness of Mirkwood. Battle and fire on the plains raged about them, but one figure stood, drawing all attention and awe to itself. Ranien and Laine stood together, staring in wonder and terror at the crazed shadow, whose blond hair was illuminated by torches and whose skin glowed feverishly. Next to this figure, the body of the small Orc lay, inert and defunct.

The elf gripped the girl's hand, but Laine could not stop her feet, which were already moving towards the figure. She held out an empty hand, mouth open in shock and sadness, not caring that Orcs moved all about them. The figure looked up, blood dripping through its hair, down its face, and fell from its chin in regular intervals. The plain, brown dress was soaked in crimson and the hand that had a full-weight, warrior's sword in it, was recognizable beneath a layer of crusted dirt and dried blood. The long, thin blade was dark, up to the hilt in the same, syrupy, sticky liquid.

"Melian?" Laine whispered, trying to bring back the elf-maid. But the ruthless killer in front of her was not the same elf that had laughed and joked with her in Mirkwood. This was not the same elf that had cooked and cleaned upon another's command. This was not the same elf that had sacrificed her own heart to save that of her lover's.

"Melian," the girl tried desperately to call to her friend, but knew that her please were futile. Melian was gone. This, standing in front of her, wearing the elf-maid's shell, was an angel of death.

She raised her eyes and fixed Laine with a stare that sent the girl reeling back into Ranien. The laughter and joy were gone from her eyes. If these orbs were the windows to the soul, the Melian's soul must have been icy, emotionless, and filled with a hot, unmoving hate.

She raised the elven blade with surprising ease, but her stare did not move from the girl's face. Laine scrabbled for Ranien's arm, but could not find it, and could only look helplessly into the deep pools of darkness in this monster's blood-ravaged face.

"Move," the cracking and drying lips parted, issuing forth a single word of command. Though it was barely a whisper, it could not have been more imposing if she had screamed it. The two in front of her were immobile, glued to their positions by fear, shock, and pity. Laine watched as Melian curved the blade down, then up so quickly that her eye could not catch it. She only realized the blade was at her throat when she felt metal, warmed by the bodies it had stolen life from, and thick liquid dripping down the sword, on her neck. Frigid lips kissed her back and her hair stood on end, a pounding starting in her abdomen and head.

"You are in my way," the same emotionless voice explained. "Move." Laine did not, but only stared, horrified at this change in her friend.

"Laine," Ranien had come back to his sense, and put an arm on her shoulder, but never looking away from Melian. "She will kill you. Move out of her way." But when the girl planted her feet, he did not step away either.

"No," the girl refused, though the bale was dancing tantalizingly close to her carotid.

"I need to go to Lórien," the monotonous, glacial voice came again. "Move out of my way." Her blade did as much talking as she did, but the girl was gripped by intuition that she could _not _let Melian continue. This madness had gone far enough, and Laine did not know how many more, Orcs or elves, would die under this sword.

"No," she answered, her voice louder, though still shaking with apprehension. "I can't let you near anymore people. Wake up, Melian."

"Laine," the elf behind her pleaded, but she ignored him.

In the midst of the macabre and gory hurricane, they were in the eye of the storm, away from immediate danger. The girl no longer saw the rivers of blood flowing around her or heard the dirge of the clashing of weapons, possibly the only burial rights these warriors would have. She had eyes only for Melian and heard only the slow dripping of the ruby liquid, more precious than any gemstone, off of the sword and onto her tunic. "If you oppose me, then you will die," the elf-maid said, her cold glare boring into the girl's face.

"Then kill me if you can," Laine had no idea where her courage was coming from or why she was playing chance with her life. Despite the stand she was taking, her heart was pounding in her throat and ears, and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.

The elf-maid did not make a move, but hesitated, and the girl thought she saw something humane in her eyes, and rushed to take hold of it before it was gone. "You can't," she whispered, "because you still have a part of you left in there, buried somewhere." The sword at her throat shuddered, and more blood splashed onto the girl's face and neck. "I don't know what happened, Melian, but dig her out. You're good, Melian! You're good!"

But it was too little, too late, and the shadows again took Melian's soul. "I will kill you," she intoned, and moved her sword right, readying for the strike.

"Then you will have to kill me too," Ranien suddenly spoke up. He drew his dagger, the only short-distanced weapon he had, and stepped out from behind the girl. Standing to her left, he held his weapon, ready and unrelenting, though the sword was nearly in his face. Laine had not expected this, and looked up at the elf's fair features, her mind suddenly flashing warning signs.

She whipped her head around and found Melian, and at that moment, she knew. Perhaps her spiraling mind rendered everything in slow motion, but she found that she could not move and that the images before her eyes slowed, so only the elf-maid seemed to be able to progress. Whether it was because Melian had finally found herself and could not hurt Laine, or because evil had finally held firm power and she knew where to stab the girl where it hurt the most, Laine did not know. But at that moment, Melian drew back her blade, faster than any elf or human eye could see and lunged forward.

The girl had not time to react and it was seconds before she realized what had happened. She stared, horrified, and numb with shock, from the hilt of the blade to the end of the sword.

She could not see it, for nearly half the weapon was buried deep in Ranien's abdomen.

The elf made no sound as Melian withdrew the sword, but Laine had grabbed him by the shoulders, and both fell, one from a gaping wound in his stomach, and the other because of another wound that none could see. The numbness fell away, and the girl clutched at her torso as if someone was tearing her apart, piece by piece. She screamed the only word that came to mind, as she stared, on her knees, in front of the elf.

"Ranien!"

She left the two on the fields, both drenched in the elf's blood, and walked back into the frenzy of battle. A part of her still untouched by the darkness told her that she ought to have felt something… but she did not know what that feeling should have been. The words, "remorse," "guilt," "pain," and "sorrow," made themselves in her mind, but she could not feel any of these, for she no longer knew what they were.

She was hollow.

* * * *

Melian felt nothing as she made her way toward Lórien, killing as she went. She slew Orcs only, for that was one feeling she could still grasp: hate. She could not kill her kinsmen… unnecessarily. And nothing could withstand her blade and her will as she hewed herself a path of death and destruction towards the Golden Woods.

Then, nothing stood between her and the trees in the last hundred feet, and she surged forward in the darkness, her sword trailing behind her. Under the eaves, she kept running, for all was still dark, and she did not know what else to do.

Melian burst into a camp, and gasped as light from a hundred lamps hit her full in the face. For in Lothlórien, the Dream Flower, no shadows or darkness could exist. The evil in her heart quailed, in such a dwelling of the Light Elves, and fought to hold on as the power of Elbereth Gilthoniel bore down on this darkness.

She screamed and fell to the ground, scratching at her chest, as fire and ice enveloped her at the same time. Her sight dimmed, and all light was blocked from her. Good and evil battled within her heart, and she did not care which won, as long as the pain stopped!

"But you do care," a voice filled her head. It was androgynous, possibly a low female or a high male, but in pain, Melian did not have time to ponder this. "Tell me," it said, filling her head with its power, "what do you want the most?"

The answer was easy.

_For Legolas to live_, she thought. _For him to be happy, even if it is not with me…_

The worming and writhing evil in her heart gave a last cry of anguish and withered away. Elbereth smiled upon her once more, and the voice answered, "You want that because you love him, and love cannot come from hate. Darkness took you because you hated, but love has brought you back to the light once more."

Sight returned, and Melian looked up from where she was lying. Elf-eyes looked back at her, curious but kind. All around her, elf-maids had emerged from tents to see what was happening. Self-consciously, though she thought it foolish at a time like this, Melian touched her hair, and found it was caked with something hard, that smelled of metal. She touched her face, and found her hands rough.

Gasping, she stared at her hands, so strange that they should have been another's. They were not white, but stained with rust and covered in some hard, crusty substance.

_Blood_…

Horrified, she sat up and looked down at herself. Her dress was soaked and everything had the flavor of iron. Her mind whirled, and suddenly, she remembered her anger, her hate, the battlefield, the Orcs, and _Laine and Ranien_. "Oh Elbereth," she murmured in panic. She was covered in _blood_. Her hair, face, hands, clothes… All drenched in others' blood.

Trembling, she looked to her side and saw the sword.

It was much too heavy for her, and yet, she knew that she had used it. It was blanketed to the hilt in the same liquid she was bathed in.

_She had killed_.

Laine. Ranien.

"Oh, Elbereth," she gasped, her voice quaking even before it left her throat. She brought her hands to her face, and tears mingled with the foul substances on her face. "Oh, Elbereth. What have I done?"


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11

* * *

**

Warm hands tilted her chin up and carefully applied a wet towel to her dry and aching cheeks. Gently, they began to wash away the crusty layer of dirt and blood that had congealed to form a mask-like substance over Melian's face. So soft and so much genuine love went into this application, that the elf-maid was reminded of her childhood, in the long years past, when she had still been an elfling. The towel felt like the kisses of doves, the delicate creature's feathers brushing against her skin, and cloudy whispers breathed upon her face. She wanted to live in this dream forever and never wake up, for this was the exact opposite of harsh reality.

Amidst all of this, Melian remembered her mother. Her father had passed into Valinor only a year after she was born, for he had not been able to bear the burden of a wife and child, and was filled with wanderlust and a yearning for the sea. She had never known her father, but her mother had always been there, determined to raise Melian right and act as both parents while working in the kitchens of Mirkwood.

She had been gathering roots for the healers when the spiders took her, and Melian had only just turned then, an infant, in elf years.

She had grown up without any difficulty, for the entire kitchen staff had seen to it that she was not overworked and underfed, but that had been about it. Otherwise, she was left to fend for herself, and the only true gentleness had come from her mother's hands and now, Legolas's love. She had neither now, and grasped at emptiness as the soft cotton cleansed her face.

"Open your eyes, young one," the voice of a she-elf sounded, and Melian knew her face was clean. The voice seemed to hum with power, resounding inside her head and all around her, but it was kind. She could not put a finger on _how_ it was powerful, for she had never heard anything like it. It was deep for a female's voice, but feminine nonetheless, but Melian tried to hold onto her dreams and visions for her mind knew what she had done and what she must appear to be in the eyes of these elves: a murderer. She pretended not to hear and held her face up, knowing that light surrounded her. She was grateful for the light, for she never, _never_ wished to be in darkness again. Evil dwelt there, and she knew she was capable of evil, for deep inside her, it still lay dormant, waiting for a chance to spread its spores.

"Open your eyes," the voice came again, still gentle and kind, but firmer. Invisible hands raised the elf-maid's eyelids, and she looked into the ageless face of the Lady of the Light. Even though she was nearly 3000 years old, Melian felt as a child, a very young child, as she looked in to the wells of memory in the other elf's eyes. They were piercingly blue, but when asked afterward, she could not describe what shade of blue it was, for as soon as she looked into them, she forgot her pains and sorrows. She stood steadily, hypnotized by Galadriel's imposing gaze.

She was not frightened.

Not exactly.

A strange, calmness settled on her shoulders, lifting away everything else. Behind Galadriel, she could see the full beauty of Lothlórien in the spring. Majestic _mellyrn_ grew all around her, their leaves more green than the emeralds of the Dwarf Caves in Erebor, sagging slightly at the weight of their small, gray seeds. This peridot was set off wonderfully on the silver backdrop of the elven lamps hanging from the _telain_ and glowing from the shadows, pearls in a vast sea. They dazzled her, for she had never seen anything so beautiful, so ethereal, and yet present in full, ephemeral, yet perpetual, and so… bittersweet.

Mithril entwined and danced gracefully between the soft beams of the lamps, so like moon light, and so natural, as they hung from the boughs. Silver and gray, like the gleam of a well-cleaned plate, the dwellings in the trees were not, at first perceptible, and when finally seen, seemed evanescent, like Light Elves who had already crossed the Sea.

"You have a purpose here," the Lady Galadriel said, and Melian remembered Legolas's description of how the lady seemed to be able to know the exact thoughts of others. An image of the prince flashed in her mind, and she nodded, aware that the Lady of the Light was showing her what she most wanted. "Then go to it."

Melian knew it was what she wanted, but hung back. "How can I approach him like this, my lady? I have killed," she confessed. "I have…_murdered_." The lady only smiled, her eyes shining, and the elf-maid was reminded of her power.

"Those that love us do not judge us," she returned.

"But Legolas cannot love me," Melian whispered. "I have done so many things that he cannot forgive." She clenched her fists at her side and cursed herself for doing such a stupid thing as kissing Maedhros. She had wanted Legolas to hate her, but now, if he actually did hate her, would it be better for her?

Galadriel did not say anything answering her question, but said, "Go. For that is what your heart desires." The lady turned her head, and Melian followed her gaze to a small, green, Mirkwood tent, where candlelight was emitting from the thin canvas. The elf-maid stumbled after the Lady until she came upon the opening.

Suddenly, something occurred to her. "Were you not in the battle, Lady Galadriel?" she asked. "Should you not be there now, leading?" Her heart sank, thinking that such a great Lady would be neglecting her troops to help her.

But the Lady only smiled again, mysteriously, for her purposes in this world could not be guessed. "There are many elves who have passed into the Undying Lands and yet walk in Middle-Earth," she answered her. "I have the magic to allow my body to walk in one place and my spirit to go to another. Go, Melian."

The elf-maid turned to the canvas before her, ready to go in, but she hesitated. _What would Legolas say when I tell him that I have killed one of his childhood friend_? she wondered, and shuddered.

She turned back, but the Lady Galadriel was gone.

She had helped her this much along the way, and Melian could not turn on her path now. With resolution, she faced the canvas and pushed it aside.

* * * *

Legolas tried stiffly to sit up, ignoring Aragorn's remark before that he should lie still. He could feel all of his wounds now, and grimaced as his chest stretched under the bandages as he pushed himself onto his elbows. Never before, had he stayed in bed for so long because of a wound, and he was determined to be on his feet before the night was out. He was known for walking off the most impossible wounds, and this one was not to be any different.

A hot fire burst in his abdomen, and he sucked in his breath harder than a normal human would have. Placing a hand on his torso, he used his legs to push the covers away and pull his weight into a sitting position.

There.

He had spat in the face of death more than once, but never before, had it taxed him so harshly. He was still light-headed from the exertion and was breathing harder than any elf should. However, he could feel no warm trail of blood and had heard no ripping of the wound opening, and congratulated himself upon this small victory.

The cool wind of the night fluttered, and the canvas billowed inwards. No footsteps could be heard, but the prince sensed the shadow outside of his tent.

Legolas looked up, alarmed, for he had not expected any visitors until after the battle, and even then, probably few, if any. The night emitted a figure into the warm glow of the candle, and the elf gasped and reached instinctively to his side for a dagger. His hand grasped air, but at that moment, he realized who this figure was.

"Melian?" he whispered, and felt his heart give a sharp pulse. He had not hurt since the night his father had rejected the idea of him being with this servant girl, but now, the emotions surged back. Despite not having seen her since that day, the dirty dress, stained with brown, and the matted hair caked with dirt, he was reminded of everything that had passed between them, and the dull throb of his wounds were dimmed by the new, spreading pain in its heart as hope and hurt flowed together. But he could not forget how she had betrayed him, and blinding jealousy that had not been there before, opened in his mind toward Maedhros.

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone colder than he had intended, but told himself that it was for the best, for he could not let her near his heart again.

"Legolas."

The way she said his name was almost too much for him to bear. No matter what she wore or how dirty her hair, she was beautiful to him. "I know you do not wish to see me," she continued. "But I… I am just glad that you are alive." She stepped forward, and the prince saw the hurt in her eyes as they strayed to the bandages on his chest and abdomen. She made a move as if to step closer, but hesitated, and returned to where she had been at the entrance.

Legolas caught a whiff of a metallic scent as Melian moved, and his eyes grew wide. "Your dress…" he gasped, his eyes running over the length of the material. The stains had not just _looked_ like blood; they _were_ blood. Melian's face contracted in panic, and she moved hands as if to cover herself, but stopped suddenly and gave him a look of anguish. Legolas realized that the reddish dirt in her hair was dried blood as well, and stared, horrified. She must have literally been soaked in a blood bath!

The servant girl had never had much self-confidence because of her life as a servant. Even before, when the prince had complimented her on her looks or cleverness, she had squirmed with discomfort, for not many had ever given her compliments and she did not know how to take them. Now, under his scrutinizing gaze and knowing she looked horrible, covered in blood, she must have been mentally collapsing, Legolas realized, and quickly looked at her face and not at the rest of her. "What happened?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, and tears welled up in her eyes. "You… you really want to know?" she asked, her voice choking back tears. Legolas did not wish to force her, but he nodded. She stepped forward again, this time nearly touching his bed with her knees. Her eyes no longer shone with tears, but with determination, and she nodded back. "If you must know, then I will tell you."

* * * *

Laine was frozen with horror, staring down at Ranien as blood poured forth from his middle. She wanted to help him, but realized that she was shaking nearly as badly as he was when she tried to put a hand over his wound to stop the bleeding. "Oh, Valar…" she gasped, cold sweat pouring down her face as chills ran up her back. Her heart was bursting, and tears fell from the corners of her eyes; she tasted salt in her mouth. "Oh, Valar…"

The elf looked up, eyes wide, as if not believing what had happened, swallowing, but not able to contain the red foam bubbling from his lips. "Laine…" He reached up, and the girl realized she was sobbing. Taking his hand, she lowered it to her lap.

"You are going to be fine," she whispered unconvincingly, her voice shaking as more tears poured from her eyes. "You are going to be fine. Just hold on." She leaned forward, pressing a palm into the wound, trying to stop the gushing flow, but Ranien only shook his head weakly.

He could feel the warmth surging out from him, and the pain of his stomach acid flowing into his chest cavity made it almost impossible to talk. He could already feel his breath coming short, and his diaphragm did not seem to be functioning, as it should. "It's no use," he whispered, for that was all he could manage. "It's done. Leave it."

Tears glistened on her cheeks as the girl shook her head furiously and refused to move her hand, though both of them were getting soaked in Ranien's blood. "No," she said stubbornly. "I can't. You're not going anywhere, Ranien."

With his remaining strength, the elf reached up and touched the girl on the side of her face, wiping the tears, and dirt from her visage. She still obstinately pressed her palm into his wound, determined to stop the flow, but even she now knew that it was no use. "I wish I had said this sooner," the elf smiled. "Perhaps we would have known each other better if I did."

"Stop," the girl commanded, knowing what was going to come from his mouth. She would not hear it, for she knew that it must mean that Ranien did not think he was going to live. "Stop it. Don't tell me. You can tell me after the healers have healed you. Not now."

The elf did not heed this, but continued to talk, his voice fading lower and lower, until by the end, she could barely hear him. Laine wanted to cover her ears, leave this place, so she did not have to believe that this was happening, but like everything significant in life, none of the words eluded her and she heard them plainly. She wished that she had known the elf better. He had led a long life, much longer than she would ever come to know, and he had done so much. She had only been part of a tiny piece of it, and she understood only parts of him.

His words were forever engraved in her mind, and as she touched the hand on her face, she knew that she would never be able to come across another like him.

"I love you."

The three words, only eight letters long, seemed like a lifetime as he said them, and she knew he meant them, for she saw them in his eyes. She had already known it, for she had seen that expression before, twice, now, and it had always been there, she had just never bothered to look. She had never bothered to look within herself and realize these feelings, and she had never had the courage to say anything about them to him.

But now, it was too late, and even as she choked, trying to reciprocate how she felt to him, even though the words would never come, Ranien's eyes clouded, and his hand at her cheek went limp and fell back to the ground.

For how long she stared into those blank, blue orbs, she did not know, but tears stopped flowing, and it was almost as if her heart stopped beating. The battle around her was forgotten, and for all she knew, it had stopped, for she could hear, see, and feel nothing else.

Then, bending down, she whispered, "You asked me who I loved." She touched his brow, still warm, and closed her eyes, remembering.

Remembering.

"It was you, Ranien. It was always you." And she brought her lips to his.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12

* * *

**

Aragorn opened his eyes to the silence of dawn, sensing the placidity of a storm passed. He squinted at the bright rays of the rising sun, and tried to turn, but nearly cried out as a sharp pain cracked though this torso, and he remembered that he had a broken rib that had plunged through skin. He would not be moving anywhere any time soon unless he wanted to puncture his diaphragm or a lung.

Gasping for breath, his crushed armor cutting deep into his chest, he turned his head, looking north, for that was the way most of the battle laid. He was still in the fields, and when his olfactory sense returned to him, he knew that the battle had not ended for long. On the ground, he could whiff every foul-smelling Orc in the vicinity and the coppery scent of drying blood, much to the like of all the other battles he had been in. However, there was no smell of decay, only of fresh-death, which was, if anything, worse.

He could see the snowy peaks of the White Mountains, for all figures between him and those cliffs were lying as flat as he was, either wounded or dead. Save one. A figure, lit by morning sun, knelt in the battlefield, alone, it seemed, and staring at the ground, the pink and orange of the sky reflected in her dirty hair.

"Laine," he tried to call out, but his voice was little more than a croak. However, in the early morning stillness, even the wind in the trees could be heard, and the girl recognized his voice. She raised her head slowly, as a sleeper would upon waking, and glanced around herself in the same, deliberate slowness, as if unsure of herself. Grimacing, Aragorn, called to her once more and raised a hand with some difficulty, as his breast plate was cutting off the circulation to his upper limbs. Without that aid, the girl would probably have missed him, taking him for another dead body on the field.

He saw her turn towards him, but there was no sign of recognition or surprise that he was still alive. What had she seen? Why had she been staring at the ground? But Aragorn would have to wait, for he could not see anything was lower than the dead Orc in front of him. He saw her stand and move toward him, her walk without the bounce or step of her normal gait.

He knew that the girl had always hated the battles that men and Orcs seemed to thrive on, but he always thought that she accepted them as a part of a way for peace. No one was exactly exhilarated after battle, unless he was a victorious Orc, but the king had never seen Laine at any level below hopeful until now.

Kneeling next to him, she acknowledged him with only, "Aragorn," and nodded. Something was definitely wrong. Her eyes lacked their normal sparkle and her voice seemed to be devoid of any happiness that used to exist inside of her. She was splattered with blood, hair stringy and sticking to her face and neck in clumps, one arm bandaged hastily near the shoulder with an abject piece of clothing. Her dirty blond hair was covered with mud and grime, and blood streaked her clothes and face.

She was the very picture of a weary soldier after a hard battle, and Aragorn would have expected nothing more from any other. But Laine, who had been like the daughter he had never had since the day they met, had never been morose or somber. She was, in a word, a _happy_ person, if other details were hotheaded, stubborn, and quite cantankerous when she was provoked to be. But despite all of these qualities, she was never a _quiet_ person, though she knew when to shut her mouth.

Wordlessly, now, she looked over the man's wounds, fingers playing over his armor to find the best place to remove it without hurting him, and with a decided hand, began to strip off the broken chain mail around his waist. Then, she freed the dented breastplate so Aragorn shivered at the morning air and found it easier to breathe. Even at the sight of her friend's grievous wound, the girl did not remark, and the man had to explain, "I have a broken rib. I tried to move and the bone broke through skin."

Normally, this would have enlisted an answer filled with the tone of worry, if also ridden with sarcasm, such as, "Very bright, Aragorn. Trying to move with a broken rib," or, "The men of Numenor live longer, but it seems their wit is no more than the average man's." But Laine still said nothing. She got a hand under Aragorn's back and helped him sit up without bending his spine, guiding the broken bone with the other hand so it did not move. The man winced in pain, and thought that she could have been gentler, but he acknowledged that she had never received any training in battle wounds.

"How long ago was the battle won?" he asked, testing the strength of his arms and looking straight forward. He doubted that he was still bleeding, but he did not trust himself to move without the girl's aid.

As she got him to his feet, putting his arm around her shoulder, she answered, her tone monotonous, "Two hours, perhaps. Maybe less. The injured have already been taken in. They must have missed you."

Her voice was not sorrowful or even filled with shock, just flat, as if she had no emotions to express. Aragorn studied her as they walked, him leaning against her, one hand over his wound, and her, walking slowly so as not to give the man too much pain.

"You were looking at something on the ground," he prodded her, "when I first saw you. What was it?" The girl hesitated, but did not answer and quickened their pace a little so he gasped with exertion, pulling her back. She slowed again, but still did not say a word, and would not look at her friend, her eyes focused on the green eaves of Lothlórien.

"Were you there long?" he asked, deciding that he would have to start small. Something had traumatized this girl, whom he held as a daughter, and he had to know what it was.

The girl seemed to think this answer no harm, though he could see her sharp mind winding it around in her head to see if there were any strings attached to the question. "Must have been almost three hours," she told him. "The battle ended near dawn." Her voice was still flat, and Aragorn raised an eyebrow. She must have had a reason to be kneeling near something for three whole hours.

As they merged under the eaves of Lothlórien, Aragorn told her, "Legolas's tent."

"Nonsense," she shook her head, finally changing the tone in her voice. "You need a healer first."

But the man dragged his feet. "Legolas's tent. We need to see if he's better."

"He was hurt?" More emotion came back into her voice, though not nearly enough to show an outsider looking in upon this conversation to know that the elf was her best friend.

"Yes. Very badly. The healers said that if he survived the night, then he would be in no danger."

* * * *

The prince leaned back against the pillow against the wall, and breathed a sigh, staring wonderingly at the elf-maid standing at the edge of the bed. Her explanations had almost been as tiring as if he had been giving them, and for minutes, he did not speak, but only stared at her, unsure how to respond.

Then, finally, though still perplexed at how the female mind worked, he asked, "You did all of that so I would hate you?"

He stared at Melian, who had lowered her head again, ashamed, obviously of what she had done. She knew that Legolas would have taken the initial news with shock, but she did not know how he would have responded if she told him that she had mortally wounded his childhood friend, and possibly left his best friend out on the fields to die, so she did not say anything about what had happened in battle, leaving it brief and to his imagination.

She nodded. "And if you do," she nearly whispered. She stepped around to the side of his bed, so that she could come closer. "I would not blame you."

"I do not," he assured her, gripping her hand. "I understand what you did. But it was unnecessary. I…"

The tent flaps fluttered open, leading a tired looking Thranduil in, sobered by the loss of elves in the battle, yet glad, for they had won, though they had paid a high price. Galadriel, still dressed in armor, though Melian had remembered her in a white dress, stepped in behind him. Legolas and Melian looked up in surprise, and the servant girl looked down in shock at their entwined hands.

She longed to pull back, but the prince did not let go, and though at first, Thranduil looked sternly at her, he looked back at his injured son, the same look in his eyes. No one knew what he was thinking, except, perhaps, Galadriel, who was much older than him, but she did not speak. Legolas swallowed, but was determined to show his father that his feelings for the elf-maid had not changed, and still did not let go of her hand.

Slowly, the Mirkwood king nodded, once, as if accepting the fact, and the servant girl was so relieved, she immediately looked away, without acknowledging her lord. As soon as she looked away however, Thranduil looked directly at his son and rolled his eyes, as if saying, "Well, if you _must_." Legolas's heart lifted, and he could not believe his luck, and could only smile in gratitude as his father turned and walked from the tent.

It was only then that Melian remembered her manners and looked up, only to see her king go. She was shocked, but seeing the Lady Galadriel, she knew that she had to say something, for without her, she would never have had the courage to explain to the prince and receive such a blessing. But before she could even open her mouth, the Lady turned her gaze upon her, and Melian knew that Galadriel already knew her heart. The Lady of the Light only smiled, all the mystery of her life behind those curved lips, and inclined her head, and turned, leaving behind an awe that all Light Elves do, even among their cousins, the Silvan Folk.

The two looked at each other, shocked at their good fortune, and Melian's grip tightened on the prince's hand. She could see his love in his eyes, and knew then, that she could spend the rest of eternity with this elf.

* * * *

Aragorn and Laine stepped into view of the prince's tent just as they saw King Thranduil and Lady Galadriel leave it. The Lady bade the King good-bye and left to tend to the wounded, but Thranduil paced in front of the tent, as if debating something with himself.

The two friends approached, and Aragorn greeted the King, who seemed to have a heavy situation over his mind. They exchanged a few words, but the girl cut in, bowing for her interruption, and said, "Your Majesty, my friend wishes to speak to your son, but he is injured. Will you not help him in?"

"Are you not here to see my son as well?" Thranduil asked in surprise.

"I know, that if you have left his tent, then he is past danger," the girl returned, and even the king, who had only known her for a few nights, could sense the change in her. "I will visit him later, but now, I have unfinished business."

With that, despite the protests of both, she left them, making for the Gladden Fields.

She was not a dreamer, and she was not one to dwell on the past. She knew, in her heart, and resolved that Ranien was dead, the moment that she left his body and went to help Aragorn. She accepted the fact and knew that she must move on, despite the hurt in her heart, and she would move on. But now was too early. She still had time, and Ranien's body could not be desecrated by being left among the Orcs. She must speak the unspoken words in her chest, and though she could never express the amount of love in her heart, she would have to give him a proper burial.

Then, she would have to tell his story for anyone who would hear. Legolas and Melian, she knew, would have to learn to truth. And if Legolas still loved Melian after he learned that terrible truth, then that would be true love, and it would not waver throughout the years. That way, she could trust her best friend with the elf-maid, whom she knew that she could not longer befriend.

There was no blame in her heart.

She knew that Melian was not in her right mind when that had happened, but the two could never return to the friendship that they had before. She hoped the best for her, and also hoped that Legolas truly loved her.

For those that love us do not judge us.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue

* * *

**

Laine sat back against the walls of the Glittering Cave, finishing the tale. Legolas had filled in parts for her, but she had ended it, and recalling Ranien did not put the hurt from her heart. She had no energy to examine the beautiful jewels around her, reflecting the orange firelight with splendid silhouettes.

The elf and dwarf exchanged a knowing look, and their gaze fell back on their friend. While she used to be a laughing, high-spirited girl, she had become morose and sober character after the death of Ranien. She never laughed or joked anymore and seldom smiled. Perhaps now that she had stopped using sarcasm, it was easier to understand her full meaning, but her friends had often caught her, staring into the west and longing for the sea, more like an elf than a human.

She knew as well as everyone else that her place was to live in Middle-Earth and to die in Middle-Earth, but the look in her eyes told Legolas that she wanted so much more. She knew, with even more pain, that she would not even see Ranien after death, for his spirit was gone, not in the Undying Lands like many of his brothers. He had lost eternal life for her.

"Forget him," Legolas took her shoulder and said gently. He had made a full recovery, though he would always have the scars from the battle on his torso. Even the great elven healers could not help that. His spirit and energy had returned with Melian's heart, and the two were to be married in little over a year, despite learning the truth. Aragorn, also, had made a full recovery, though the elves had to move him back to the Houses of Healing in Gondor, where he was cared for by Arwen Undomiel.

The girl shook her head, but tears did not fall from her eyes. She only stared into the flames, for she had not known tears after Ranien's death. "You are still young. Are there not enough men in this world to satisfy your needs?" Legolas asked.

The girl gave him a wry smile as Gimli the Dwarf threw another faggot into the fire and cleared his throat. "My needs, perhaps," she answered. "But not my wants. I shall never feel the beauty of love again."

The dwarf cleared his throat and clapped her on the back. "What do ye need the beauty of _that_ for?" he asked. He had been very disgruntled when he had learned that the elf was to marry. He kept saying that there were not enough good bachelors in the world who had a wandering heart that could never settle down. "Look at all the beauty around ye!"

He spread his arms, as if presenting the entire cave to her.

She gave him a hard look. "Yes, Gimli, the Glittering Caves are beautiful," she finally said, her voice devoid of all expression. She bit her lip, and looked down into her lap again. Legolas glared at the dwarf over her head.

But Gimli placed a hand on hers. "Not the caves, lass," he told her gently, lifting her chin. "_Look_ at the beauty around you. Look at the beauty in us." Laine lifted her head, a new light in her eyes. She was curious, something she had not been for the months after her love's death. The dwarf clasped a hand on her arm, then another on Legolas's. "Look at the beauty of friendship."

Hearing this, the girl gave the dwarf a smile. A true smile that reached her eyes, for she realized what he had said was true. She had lost much in life, but she had gained as well. And her gains, the lasting friendships she had made, were more beautiful than all the riches and jewels in the world.

**The End**


End file.
